


High Tides

by Everlind



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hyoutei regulars go camping. Disaster ensues. Sort of.<br/>Featuring Ohtori doing what he does best, Shishido being generally sarcastic and short-tempered, Oshitari meddling and Taki being confused. Hiyoshi is possibly the only sane one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**High Tides  
**

Initially, Ohtori didn't want to go. Spanning the period between being a junior in middle school and a junior in high school, he's grown another four inches. Making him taller than Kabaji now. Only two fingers' worth, but still. And being so tall and having such light hair means attracting a fair bit of curious glances under normal circumstances. Ohtori doesn't really want to be naked except for swimming shorts when he is stared at. So, no, he still isn't really sprung on the idea.

So he's sitting on the low wooden bench, fanning his face with his hand and, yes, well okay, moping a bit as the rest of the regulars chats amiably. Or, rather, what _passes_ for amiable, it's Hyoutei after all.

"Atobe," Shishido-san says in tones of deep, deep exasperation. "Camping does not involve a five course dinner."

"You plan on starving then, Shishido?" Atobe asks loftily.

"No, just-- Argh, gimme that!" he snatches the paper and the pen out of Atobe's hands and walks over to Mukahi, who motions for him to come over. 

Atobe holds out for a full twelve minutes (Ohtori times it, it's not like he's got anything better to do) before he stomps over to the two huddled forms. He reads along over their shoulders, frown deepening the further he goes down the list. "Tents!?" he exclaims.

Mukahi, bangs pinned on top of his head with a hairclip, looks up, unimpressed. "If you want to sleep outside with the plethora of insects, that can be arranged. We are nothing if not accommodating." 

He and Shishido share a grin.

"There's going to be bugs?!" Atobe yells outright this time.

"I dare say that might be a possibility," Shishido answers dryly. 

"I find your ideas of camping to be highly questionable!" Atobe says, crossing his arms. "Naa, Kabaji?"

"Uh," Kabaji just says, unsure of how to handle the situation tactfully. 

"Kabaji?" Atobe repeats, voice rising an octave.

But Kabaji is already gone, under pretense of hauling Jiroh inside before the skin bakes off his body in the scorching August heat. 

Atobe looks profoundly unsettled.

Gesturing with his pen, Mukahi asks, "How, Atobe, would you go camping, then?"

"Well, first of all I would book the best hotel in the vicinity-" 

"No hotels," Shishido interjects mercilessly. "Camping involves tents. Right, Kabaji?"

Dropping a decidely sunburned Jiroh at Ohtori's feet, Kabaji says, "Usu."

Atobe actually deflates and flounders in shock at this deep betrayal of the heart. 

Shishido and Mukahi ignore him. Mukahi writes something down, bending low over the paper, red hair mingling with Shishido's short dark as they conspire Atobe's imminent demise. Ohtori can almost see little devil's horns popping up out of their hair and devil's tails sprouting from their shorts. 

"Tents and sleeping bags and coolers and tennis rackets..." Shishido tags them off on his fingers.

"No tennis rackets, Ryou," Mukahi says.

Shishido's face falls.

Mukahi pats his hand. "We're camping. There'll be enough stuff to lug around without brining tennis gear. We'll get you a fly swatter, how's that?"

Grumbling, Shishido nods grudgingly. "Oh!" he takes the pen from Mukahi. "And swimming shorts; can't be arrested for committing public indecencies, can we?"

Ohtori perks up. That's right, he'll not be the only one in swimming shorts, will he? Squaring his shoulders, Ohtori decides he might be able to live through four days of camping near the beach, after all.

***

Atobe gets his way on one aspect, though. Maybe for the best, considering the sheer volume their bags, tents and coolers take up. By train, as Mukahi and Shishido had first suggested, would have ended only in chaos and missing luggage. Which would mean Shishido-san and Atobe-buchou probably launching into one of their infamous screaming matches as their tempers rose. Somewhere in the middle of it all would be Mukahi, egging them on. Add Jiroh-senpai sleeping resolutely through it all and probably ending up forgotten when switching trains in a hurry and you have the perfect recipe for disaster.

So instead they recline in the cool air-conditioned mini-bus Atobe insisted on as they drive towards their destination.

Despite Oshitari warbling bad english love songs and Mukahi going, "Will you shut up already?" every five minutes, it's almost relaxing. 

Sometimes Jiroh will add a muzzy, "Are we there yet?", before starting to snore again after a collective groan of: " _No, Jiroh._ "

Shishido-san has the window seat and is looking at the landscape rushing by. Sitting next to him, thighs pressed together, Ohtori manages a quick sketch of the bus interior and its occupants. The sketchbook will be somewhat of a hassle to lug around, he knows, but he likes it better than pictures.

They've brought Taki-senpai with them for a _reason_.

"Smile for the birdie, Ryou!" Taki says brightly as he points a camera at him.

Not even looking away from the world outside, Shishido sticks his middle finger up just as Taki's camera clicks. He pouts at the LCD screen. "Nice. Thanks a lot, Shishido."

"Any time," Shishido allows graciously. 

Atobe sits at the front with his legs elegantly crossed, smirking smugly to himself.

That's never a good thing.

In front of them, Kabaji diligently knits. Overhead the sun burns savagely. Heat-waves radiate from the concrete outside and distorts shapes and contours. Ohtori wonders what, exactly, Kabaji expects to do with wool socks.

Hiyoshi has taken a page out of Jiroh's book and is asleep, slumping against the window and mouth open a bit. With each exhale, the window fogs over a bit. One ear of his headphones has dropped out and is emitting quiet, soothing music. His glasses are folded in his lap. Contacts are too much of a hassle with sand blowing into eyes and sea water being splashed around.

"Saa, Choutarou," Shishido says suddenly, voice low. He's been scribbling away on a sheet of note-book paper for a while, humming and counting. "Mind sharing a tent with me?"

Ohtori manages a carefully neutral, "Sure," instead of the triumphant 'YES!' that is bursting to come out.

Nodding, Shishido writes their names down in a square and frowns. "Atobe. You are aware that pointedly refusing to bring a tent means that you _and_ someone else will have to get cozy with the mosquitos?" he says, arching a slanting brow.

"Ore-sama has thought of _everything_ , Shishido," is the only answer that gets.

"Whatever," Shishido mutters. "Gakuto? You've got a tent for three, right?"

Mukahi twists in his seat and flashes a peace-sign, "I'll take both Yuushi and Taki, then!"

"Will you now?" Oshitari says lazily, eyebrows doing a dance of innuendo.

Rolling his eyes elaborately, but ignoring Oshitari otherwise, Mukahi asks Taki, "Okay?"

"Fine by me!" 

Shishido adds their names to the biggest square. Ohtori thinks they're meant to represent tents, but Shishido's drawings always end up looking like something more suited to the walls of a cave. "That's settled then. Wakashi! Oi!" he leans over and tugs the other plug out of Hiyoshi's ear. 

"Shishido-senpai," Hiyoshi complains, frowning at the rude wake-up call. He slides the glasses on his nose.

"Who'll you take? Jiroh or Kabaji. Atobe wants to get in touch with nature, or something, so he doesn't count."

Torn, Hiyoshi glances between the two options, unsure of what to say, because the one rejected will end up sleeping outside. In the grass. Or in the sand. With a small army of mosquitos buzzing about. And other bugs crawling everywhere. 

"Kabaji will room with me, naa Kabaji?" Atobe speaks up from the front.

"Usu."

"Your funeral," Shishido tells Kabaji with a shrug and adds Jiroh's name under Hiyoshi's.

***

Ohtori helps Kabaji unload the bags. Inside the mini-bus Taki is trying to wake Jiroh up, with no success. The chauffeur shuffles around impatiently, glancing at his watch. It isn't until Mukahi says, all loud and clear, "Oh look, I can see the ocean," that Jiroh is abruptly standing next to the bus as if he teleported there, wearing nothing but his swimming shorts and bouncing happily.

"How does he do that?" Ohtori asks rhetorically. 

Kabaji shrugs. 

Hiyoshi's voice cuts through the clearing, "You have got to be joking."

Turning his head, Ohtori does a double-take and... stares.

The smack of Shishido-san slapping his forehead echoes between the trees. "Let me guess," he says, a red hand-print forming on his forehead along with a frown. "That's your tent?"

"Naturally," Atobe says, reclining in a fold-up chair. "Ore-sama camps in style."

Which is an understatement. Ohtori wouldn't be surprised if _somehow_ Atobe has had a bath installed in there. The tent, if you want to call the purple canvas monstrosity that, could easily fit the whole team and then some. People must've been paid to put it up there before they arrived. 

Taki comes out of the bus, arms full of Jiroh's discarded clothes. "I think Atobe is missing the point of camping," he sighs and deposits the bundle on a bag. Today, Taki's wearing a shirt with strategic rips in it, showing more than it actually conceals.

Heaving the last bag out of the storage area, Ohtori thanks the chauffeur before turning to find Shishido. He's already half-way through setting the tent up, racing Mukahi and Hiyoshi to see who can finish first. All three of them are seasoned campers, it seems. 

Hiyoshi wins. 

"Gekokujou," he says with a razor-sharp grin.

Shishido throws his cap at him. "Yeah, whatever."

Mukahi pouts. "It's not fair, my tent is bigger. Yours are only doubles, mine is for three people."

Lugging their baggage over, Ohtori shares a smile with Shishido. "That was fast," he says to Shishido. 

"My parents are all gung-ho for camping and trekking and shit," he shrugs. "It's not that hard."

Hands dig around in a bag for a moment, until Shishido grunts and pulls out a rolled-up mat. He fumbles with it and then throws it out on the grass. Ohtori arches a brow at him. "Self-inflatable," Shishido explains. 

Soon their bags, mats and sleeping bags are arranged inside. It stays all nice and orderly for all of five minutes. Then Shishido-san dives inside and starts rooting around in his bags, creating chaos. Ohtori decides against commenting and instead goes off to inquire about lunch. As Atobe has the biggest tent, all the coolers are stored there. Besides the fire-pit, there's only one large wooden pick-nick bench and if they _squeeze,_ nine teenage boys just barely fit on it. Ohtori knocks his knees against the edge, so he and Kabaji opt for the sides, where they can stretch out their legs. 

Taki complains about the food. Shishido complains about Taki. Atobe complains about _everything_.

But, it's sort of nice. 

Ohtori knows he won't get much sleep because a) unfamiliar bed (if you can call a sleeping bag and a lumpy mat that) and b) having Shishido so incredibly close. Nonetheless, he's glad Atobe insisted on copying Seigaku's togetherness outings, in hopes of increasing their chances of winning the Nationals this year. Hyoutei is not as heartless as believed, the regulars have been together for over three years and, okay, they are dysfunctional one, but they are a _team_ nonetheless. 

One of the first rules to be installed is that Ohtori is in charge of the matches. Mukahi rolls his eyes and mumbles something about being eighteen and not being babies anymore. 

Secondly Atobe announces that's he's rented off an entire section of bathrooms and showers for their personal use for the whole four days. Sometimes it's nice to have a buchou who is as rich as the ocean is deep. Not even Shishido-san has anything disparaging to say about that. 

Lastly they decided to hit the beach first. 

Once more Shishido dives through the tent opening and starts digging up a storm through his bag. Clothes fly everywhere.

"Shit, I can't find my shorts," he mumbles.

Oshitari, looking fashionable in capris and flip-flops, the band of his swimming shorts a dark slice against his bare abdomen and for once without glasses, points out, "I hear skinny dipping can be very liberating." 

But then Shishido says, "Ah, found them." 

Ohtori tries not to be too disappointed. 

After Shishido crawls out in his shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, as per usual, Ohtori slips inside and changes into his own and a button-up shirt. He grabs a towel. 

Kabaji grabs Jiroh (asleep again) and they're off.

***

Ohtori remembers just why the trip had initially filled him with such apprehension. 

The beach is packed. 

Setting off to find a clearer stretch, they walk in a loose group along the water's edge. Ohtori looks down, watching the refreshingly cool water splash around his ankles. A welcome cool breeze flutters his hair. 

People stare.

After all, he's the strange tall kid with hair so pale it looks silver. 

Shishido-san sprints past, kicking up water and sand, Mukahi hot on his heels and laughing. Catching a glimpse of a bandage getting soggy with water, coils slipping down his shin and hanging around his ankle, Ohtori frowns. Shishido-san had slid over the court as he tried to catch up with a ball the other day, losing a good layer of skin on his shin in the process. If the salt stings the tender scabs, it doesn't show. Fast as ever, Shishido outruns Mukahi easily, his eyes fierce and bright with challenge. Seeing Shishido's slender and lean body, his easy agility, grooves and hollows deepening and shifting under the skin of his legs as the muscles work and the intense look on his face; it makes Ohtori feel gangly and ungainly. Too big and lumbering. 

There's a undignified yowl from the front and the next thing Shishido is back, ducking behind Ohtori. 

Atobe glares over his shoulder, the front of his crisp designer shirt splashed. 

"Don't goad him, Shishido-san," Ohtori says, even though he's smiling. 

Falling in line next to him, a perfect synchronization of their steps despite Ohtori's longer legs, Shishido smirks lopsidedly. "C'mon, he just takes himself so seriously, _look_ at him!" he flaps a hand.

Every girl Atobe passes, be they young and just blossoming into womanhood or old and wrinkled, all stare starry-eyed at him as he struts by. A peacock amongst wrens. A clique of girls their age pass them from the opposite direction. The swing in their hips increases, their breasts push forward, nipples straining against the fabric and their eyelashes lower as they glance at them. 

They're pretty, Ohtori thinks. But he'd rather peek at Shishido's now bare chest as he wriggles out of his damp shirt, muscles shifting and all planes and sharp angles. He knows he's being pathetic about it, but nowadays just being near his doubles partner is like having a red-hot poker of desire and wanting jabbed into him. 

At one point Shishido darts into the crowd. The press of people, towels and the endless sea of umbrellas, popping up like exotic mushrooms as it gets even hotter, swallow him completely. He's gone long enough Ohtori worries he's lost sight of them, but just as he makes to tell the others to wait, Shishido comes back with two cups of shaved ice. He presses the cup to Ohtori's arm and grins at the yelp he gives. 

"Orange or... I don't know what the blue is, actually," he shrugs and walks backward in front of Ohtori as to give him a better look.

By the time the ice is finished they've walked far enough for the beach to clear some. Picking a spot that will allow them to royally spread their towels out, Ohtori pushes the umbrella into the sand and then plops down on his towel with a sigh. It's just too hot. Shishido randomly dumps his backpack, shoes and shirt next to him and struggles to get the drenched and sandy bandage off his leg. Lastly he plucks his cap off, considers it, and then sets it down too.

Jiroh, finally awake after being carried by Kabaji the whole time, bounces over with Mukahi. "Race you," he says and takes off before giving Shishido time to answer.

After a blink, Shishido hollers "Oi!" and is after them, sprinting away in a flurry of sand. He hits the water first, splashing into it, before arching and diving under. It's not long before they engage in an all out water-fight. At one point Shishido picks Mukahi up and throws him. Even from where he sits, the gleaming of the sun on Shishido's wet skin makes Ohtori's stomach clench with longing. 

Hiyoshi sits down next to him on the towel and takes his book out. He doesn't say anything about the bittersweet twist to Ohtori's mouth, but his presence is enough to make Ohtori tear his eyes away. Instead he lies on his back in the shade of the umbrella and closes his eyes. The ride here and the heat wrings every last ounce of energy out of him.

The peace lasts for all of ten minutes before a spray of water hits his face. Spluttering he sits up to the sight of Shishido shaking out his hair like dog. 

"Shishido-senpai," Hiyoshi sighs, wiping droplets from the cover of his book.

Ignoring the complaint, Shishido rummages in his backpack, frowning again even though his spirits are high. Then, as if it's completely normal, he plunks down close in front of Ohtori, waving a bottle in his face. He can smell the ocean on Shishido and the shaved ice on his breath. Water has slicked his hair down some, even though it's rebellious enough to peek up here and there again. Droplets slide down from his neck, over his chest, collecting near his navel for an instant, only to be absorbed by the waistband of his shorts as they travel further down his belly.

"Choutarou!" Shishido says, annoyed, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"Uh?" Ohtori mutters.

"Sunscreen," Shishido tells him, motioning with the bottle. "Your color is already high. With your fair skin you should watch out, you don't want a heatstroke, right?"

"No," he answers carefully. Surely Shishido isn't offering to...

But he is. Next thing Shishido-san has uncapped the bottle, squirted some on his fingers and is painting a stripe of lotion down Ohtori's nose. Ohtori gets to do his chest, arms and legs himself after he pulls off his shirt, but Shishido does his face; fingers drawing cool lines before smoothing them out. It's hard to act natural, he's _hard_ and embarrassed. Shishido is only helping out and being thoughtful, but when he tells him to lie down on his stomach, Ohtori just about dies. The lumpy sand presses painfully against his erection and Ohtori hides his burning face in his crossed arms. 

Hands moving in smooth, steady patterns, Shishido rubs the lotion over his back, moving outwards from his spine and working his way down gradually. His palms are rough, calluses from playing tennis and being a boy in general rasping now and then. It's a dizzying contrast between slick and rough and the leap in Ohtori's teenage mind from massage to sex isn't all that big. His arousal starts to ache, numbing even the pit of his belly and alternately running in hot and cold shivers through him. 

From the corner of his eye, Ohtori can see Hiyoshi smirk knowingly. There's a smudge of sunscreen on his cheek; Shishido must've attacked him at some point. Closing his eyes and ignoring Hiyoshi, Ohtori just tries to enjoy the feeling of Shishido touching him, basking in the moment. 

There's a pat between his shoulders blades, playful, an indication that it's over.

Ohtori props himself up on an elbow, but doesn't dare roll around yet. "Should I-" he starts, hoping it sounds as if he just wants to be a good kouhai and return the favor. And not as if he's dying to have a chance to touch him.

The minute prick of hope is squashed as Shishido shakes his head no. "I'm fine, I don't burn easily." He's off before Ohtori can answer. 

Next cornered is Jiroh who, with his blonde curls and pale skin like Ohtori's, is already pink in the face from the sun beating down. He watches Shishido paint lines of lotion on Jiroh's face too, making cat's whiskers as Jiroh draws indian stripes on Shishido's cheeks. Ohtori tries not to be too let down at not being the only one to receive such a treatment from the usually gruff and blunt Shishido. Eventually Jiroh makes a sticky hand-print on Shishido's chest and Shishido submits to being treated with sunscreen, too. All the while Taki takes furtive pictures. Afterwards, as he walks over to them -wearing bright blue speedos no less- he looks extremely pleased.

"I can _so_ use this as blackmail material," he declares. "I'll threaten to sell this to his fangirls if Ryou doesn't do as I say. Like attending practice in a skirt, or something." 

Folding his legs, he sits down next to Ohtori and smiles happily. "It's the dawn of a new era," he murmurs, stroking his camera lovingly.

Hiyoshi and Ohtori exchange wry looks. 

*** 

At one point Ohtori goes with Oshitari-senpai to buy snacks. Ohtori puts his shirt on again, leaving it unbuttoned, and it flaps around his waist in the feeble wind that blows inland from over the ocean. Oshitari raises an eyebrow at it, but doesn't comment. 

Girls stare hungrily at Oshitari, giggling behind their hands and whispering. 

Ohtori doesn't meet anybody's questioning eyes but those of the stall vendor as he places the order. The greasy smell of the food mingles with the salty tang of the ocean and suncreen. Ohtori crosses his arms and sighs. Lounging, hair pulled back in a ponytail, Oshitari leers unabashedly back at the girls. None approach though. 

They're waiting for the food, which is slow in the coming, when suddenly a girl plucks at his shirt. Her cheeks are flushed with shyness and she can't quite meet Ohtori's eyes, but she asks quietly, "My friends and I are wondering if you two would like to play a game of volleyball?" She's braver than her friends though, who group together at a distance and titter. 

Her bikini is small and pink, her lips are slicked with lip-gloss and her mascara isn't even smudged. She's beautiful and Ohtori panics a bit, looking to Oshitari for help. Of course, Oshitari just smirks and doesn't offer any assistance. 

"N-no, sorry," he manages, trying not to sound too rude. 

"Please?" she pouts. 

Ohtori fumbles some more, for something that sounds polite, but is still a firm denial. It doesn't help that her friends inch closer like a pack of hungry predators. 

"Choutarou!"

Shishido walks up to them, looking as if he'd swam all the way instead of walking along the beach. He's drenched. Ruffling his wet hair and splattering ocean all over the girl, he asks, "Need some help?" 

"Atobe send you?" Oshitari speaks up.

The scowl says it all. "He's hungry and being a bitch about it," Shishido growls. "He doesn't seem to realize that I'm not willing to substitute playing lackey for him."

"Yet here you are," Oshitari points out.

Shishido scowls even harder. "Whatever. What's taking so long?"

"Excuse me," the girl says.

Rounding on her, Shishido bites out a terse: "What?"

It doesn't seem to put the girl off. Instead her friends flock closer. One of them, wearing a bikini so small it hardly covers her nipples (Oshitari leers openly), comes closer, almost crowding Shishido. "You a friend of his?" she simpers.

"What's it to you?" Shishido asks, crossing his arms and frowning deeper.

There's a collective giggle. They seem to enjoy a challenge. Ohtori grinds his teeth.

"Won't you and your friends come and play volleyball with us?" she asks, jutting her hip and tossing her hair over a shoulder.

Ohtori grinds his teeth harder.

"What do you-" Shishido starts. But then a number is called and after snatching the lot from Ohtori's hands and glancing at it, Shishido turns his back to the girls and rubs his hands. "Oh, hey, food!" is all he says, girls completely forgotten.

As they walk back towards their spot, Oshitari says despairingly, "You are a disgrace to all of mankind, Shishido."

"What now?" Shishido wants to know as his jaw sets angrily at the slight.

"That girl was totally coming on to you. You were about to score! And all you can say is 'yay food'?" Oshitari exclaims.

"I didn't say 'yay', I said, 'hey'," Shishido-san points out, but his eyes stay on the containers and packages of greasy, fried food.

Oshitari sighs and moves to touch his glasses before realizing he left them in the tent. "The point is that she was _smokin_ '."

"I don't like smokers," Shishido counters.

With a dramatic sigh, Oshitari gives it up as a lost case.

Ohtori suspects that Shishido is being purposefully stubborn and sarcastic. This is only confirmed when he shares a sly wink with Ohtori. 

At times Shishido-san can be dense enough that it makes Ohtori want to pull his own hair in frustration, because honestly, any other person _not_ being Shishido would have gotten a clue by now. Instead Shishido never seems to notice Ohtori's deep and pathetic longing, continuing merrily on as always (or scowlingly, rather). But then there's moments like these, when he just acts, playing along and fooling people. 

Oshitari glances at Ohtori and smirks smugly. Just like that Ohtori knows Oshitari isn't fooled by Shishido and was just fishing for responses. Everybody on the team knows about his crush, but Oshitari is always keen on meddling when there's romantic entanglement at stake. It seems he was prowling for answers that might reveal anything at all about Shishido and his romantic interests. Out of the whole team, he's the only one nobody knows anything about. Even Ohtori, who is closest to him, doesn't know anything worthwhile. 

He knows that Shishido is a bit of a prude, having a hard time dealing with people showing affection in public or being obvious about sex. Getting him to talk about anything relating to romance or sex is like drawing blood from a stone. On the other hand, the prudish part doesn't extend to the locker rooms or showers, where the sight of a naked Shishido-san asking for shampoo isn't an uncommon occurrence. Ohtori doesn't think he's against gays, because Seigaku's Golden Pair could be married for all they seem to be attached to the hip, and even knowing that Shishido always exchanges willingly pleasant(!) conversation with Oishi when they run into each other. Once he was even holding hands with Kikumaru during, and besides the usual uneasiness at being confronted with public affection, Shishido didn't even twitch. 

Ohtori looks at down at Shishido, taking in the fierce frowning brows, the intense eyes, and wonders.

***

At some point in the later afternoon a flock of girls unabashedly spread out their towels some ways in front of them. They lie, posing, hoping. Next to Ohtori, Hiyoshi faithfully keeps his eyes trained on the pages of his book. Probably even admitting to himself the girls are sexy will feel to Hiyoshi as though he's cheating on his girlfriend. Instead he frowns, resolutely _not_ looking. 

Despite Oshitari leering, Atobe sneaking peeks from over the rim of his sunglasses and Mukahi fidgeting, the girls are sorely disappointed. 

Late afternoon settles, the sun starting to sink, tuning the colors to overall deep oranges and warm yellows. The ocean glitters, white-capped waves rolling in and pulling away again. 

Eventually Atobe rises grandly from his throne (translation: tacky rented fold-up chair) and a hush falls over the overtly loud girls. They pout when he merely walks haughtily past them towards the water. After a beat Kabaji rises and follows. 

Just then Shishido-san pops up again from where-ever he'd been and pokes Ohtori in the shoulder.

"Let's go, Choutarou," he says, a sloppy up-turn to his mouth. "There's less people now. Come swim."

As Ohtori takes off his shirt he smiles to himself. Shishido knows him well, enough to take note of his discomfort and postponing his invitation until there's less of an audience. 

Underfoot the sand scorches his soles and Ohtori gets why Shishido has been sprinting towards the water all day. Forgetting about the girls gaping, he copies and breaks into a run. 

Atobe is still at the tide-line, refusing to take the last step. Just as Ohtori hears him comment loudly, "Are you sure this water is sanitary, Kabaji?" Shishido sprints past, throwing himself into an oncoming wave with a mightily splash, drenching Atobe instantly.

"Shishido!" he snaps, blinking against the surf dripping down his face.

"Sorry, Atobe-buchou," Ohtori says quickly, taking care to not add injury to insult and splash Atobe again. 

The waters hits cool, raising goose-bumps, but not cold. It feels good, so good in fact that Ohtori feels silly for being so embarrassed and suffering the heat instead. He plows after Shishido, who slides through the water like a seal, and laughs. When he catches up, he's breathless and elated; the feel off the vast water all around him, washing along his body, washing away his worries. Shishido is kicking water to keep his head up, but Ohtori is standing, feeling soft, water-polished sand between his toes. 

"No fair," Shishido says, looking down at the distorted lines of Ohtori's body underwater. He takes a breath and sinks under, planting his feet on the ocean-bottom. Barely the tips of his hair float on the surface, dancing on the sloshing water. He's a good deal smaller; if Ohtori would wrap his arms around him, he'd have to tilt his chin down just a bit to rest it on the crown of Shishido's head. To his partner's great frustration, he never had another significant grow spurt, not like Ohtori's which, in contrast, didn't seem to _end_.

After doing a back-flip underwater and circling once around Ohtori, Shishido comes up again with a gasp. "Race you?" he asks, pointing towards the bright buoy marking the safety zone.

A playful countdown later, Ohtori is doing a powerful breaststroke, which is good enough to keep up with Shishido's crawl. Soon only the sloshing and rushing of their strokes fill his ears, punctuated by their labored breathing; the rowdy beach is a distant memory. During the last stretch Shishido cheats, splashing him, and then slaps a hand down on the bobbing buoy. 

"Now that's not fair," Ohtori says breathlessly, kicking water himself now.

Shishido just grins, breath coming in deep heaves.

In the distance the beach is a ribbon of white, backed by dunes and trees beyond that, all dyed orange by the setting sun. Atobe is a small figure, cut off mid-tight by the water. Their team is reduced to colorful blots scattered around the umbrella. Both of them seem just insignificant humans, waiting to be swept away on the never ending swell of this vast expense of water that glitters around them. It seems a very long way off. Ohtori looks down. The ocean yawns deep and dark under his legs, almost hungry. 

"Do you think there's sharks here?" he asks, a little belatedly. 

After a scoff, Shishido does the famous ' _dundun dundun dundun dududuuuuun_ ' theme from Jaws. 

Ohtori flicks water at him, but keeps his eyes on the blue all around. It's really _everywhere_ isn't it? Below him, around him and kicking water is _tiring_.

"Relax, Choutarou," Shishido-san says, grinning. Then he winks. "The only thing that bites out here is me." 

Ohtori knows he goes bright red, the flush staining his face and neck and chest feverishly, and it must _show_ , but Shishido doesn't tease him any further. Instead he blinks and looks... strange. There's no other word for the expression. 

As they swim back, Ohtori doesn't know if he is relieved or worried. Or if that reaction _meant_ anything. 

Does Shishido-san suspect?

Ohtori's insides roil like the ocean around him.

***

When the sky dyes purple and their stomachs growl too loudly, they gather their belongings and saunter back. As they pass through the lively center of the tourist commerce, Mukahi and Shishido linger near a small shop advertising scuba sessions. Even though the clerk protests being booked all day, the both of them manage to wheedle out a very early session next morning. One last stop at the convenience store and they continue down the sandy road, into the campsite. After dumping their bags and grabbing clean clothes, shampoos and soap they hit the showers before supper. 

"Damn sand gets everywhere," Mukahi says, peeling off his shorts with a look of disgust. After stepping out of them he drops them on the tiled floor with a squelching 'splat'. 

Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Jiroh barely manages to get out of his shorts before sinking down naked on the low bench. "I'm sleepy," he yawns. 

"If you swallow a mouthful of water and drown, Jiroh, I will be very displeased," Atobe tells him.

"Okay, I won't then," Jiroh says and stumbles into a stall. Next thing they hear is the spray being turned on, a yawn and then a choking gurgle as he gets a mouthful. 

Shishido shakes his head. "Never learns, does he?" he mutters, nearly tripping out of his shorts as they cling to his legs. 

By the time Shishido manages to get in the stall, after having added another scrape to his shin by banging into the bench, Ohtori is red in the face. Years of showering with the team, sometimes on dayly basis, leaves very little purpose in being modest. Neither of them really bats an eye anymore at the sight of a teammate walking around naked as they dry themselves or look for clothes. Ohtori is as blandly unaware of this as the rest, unless it's Shishido. So he's the last to pick a stall, shame-facedly waiting until he can walk without announcing his obvious arousal. 

_Being a teenager really sucks at times,_ Ohtori thinks. 

Spray hitting the back of his neck, Ohtori plants his hands against the cool, tiled wall and tries to let some of the tension go. He's tired of _wanting_. Being here, with Shishido so close and relaxed is a constant strain of _act natural, act natural, act natural._ Sometimes he almost believes he could reach out and kiss Shishido-san and wouldn't get punched for doing so. 

He wishes he had the guts to do so.

It's a losing battle. One hand leaving the wall, his fingers skim along his soapy stomach and, after a last moment of lingering shame, curls around his almost aching cock. Biting his lips, he's as quiet as he manages.

Oshitari, across the room, is jerking off too and being obnoxiously loud about it. He's probably thinking about some of the girls on the beach he saw.

Tuning the noisy grunts out, Ohtori allows himself to recall how Shishido looked. Dark hair half-tamed and soaking wet with surf, sun glinting as sharp off his skin as it did off the ocean. He's slight and wiry, nipples tan against a pale chest. A sloppy not-quite-smile and a fierce look.

_Relax, Choutarou. The only thing that bites out here is me._

Hiding his face against the biceps of the arm still braced against the tiles, Ohtori chokes down a noise and arches into his hand. When he comes out of the shower he's still shaking slightly from the aftermath. He's glad that Shishido has already left, so he doesn't need to look him in the face. The urge has been sated some and he feels better prepared for a night spent sleeping next to Shishido in such a confined space. 

When he walks into the circle of their camp, Taki is saying testily to a lazily sprawling Oshitari, "You're like a one-man porn show, Yuushi. Can't you at least try to be discreet?" 

"You probably fried Shishido's virgin brain," Mukahi adds.

A trainer comes flying out of their tent and conks Mukahi on the back of his head.

"I heard that," Shishido-san says, scowling as he ducks out of the tent. 

Mukahi rubs the back of his head, but still smirks. 

With a start, Ohtori realizes Hiyoshi is trying to talk to him. Probably for a while now, considering his twitching eyebrow. "The matches, Choutarou," he says exasperatedly. "Can I have them?"

"Ah, sure," he nods and crawls half-into the tent to get them. 

Atobe has brought out his fold-up chair again and is helpfully directing Hiyoshi from it on how to start a fire in the pit. "Buchou," Hiyoshi snaps after five minutes of this. "I know how to build a fire, I've done it before." 

The fire gets going, growing tall but controlled under Hiyoshi's watchful eye. It's still too warm out to sit near it, so Ohtori goes to see if he can help Kabaji and Jiroh with dinner. Seeing as Jiroh is chopping up stuff like a top-pro chef, tossing them into the air with a wicked knife in one hand and catching them in a bowl with the other, Ohtori leaves them to it. 

Instead he wanders off to join Shishido, who is spread-eagled in the grass, shirtless and fanning himself with a listless hand. All the running around and swimming and terrorizing Atobe is catching up, it seems. Before sitting down, Ohtori notes the inflamed and peeling scabs on the ankle, gets the first-aid kit, and sinks down into the grass. 

"It's just a scratch, Choutarou," Shishido grumbles. It's his standard response to what Shishido calls Ohtori's 'mothering'. It sounds a bit degrading, but if Ohtori doesn't do it, Shishido won't either. One day Ohtori fully expects Shishido's hands to fall off, or something, and _still_ be growled at for trying to staunch the bleeding. 

"Look at those eyes," Oshitari says with a smirk as he nods his head at Ohtori. "You've already lost, Shishido. Give in graciously while you can." 

"Whatever," Shishido says offhandedly, but allows Ohtori to maneuver his foot onto a thigh. 

Ohtori carefully rubs the ointment in. It must burn like mad, but Shishido just blinks sleepily up at the sky overhead. "You should stay away from the water tomorrow, Shishido-san," he tells him. "It's raw from the salt and sand." 

"That's just too bad," Shishido says dryly. "Cause I'm going diving tomorrow. It'll be fine by then." 

Ohtori doubts that, but Shishido is as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. Which is most of the time. Resolve, tenacity and sheer stubbornness walk a fine line with Shishido. Shaking his head, Ohtori bandages the ankle and shin and settles down to await dinner.

Dinner is surprisingly good and Jiroh stays awake long enough to accept the compliments, even from Atobe, before falling asleep face-first in his bowl. By the time Ohtori has helped Mukahi clean everything thoroughly (as to not attract insects), the sun has sunk low enough that everything falls into perpetual twilight. The fire is the new blazing source of light and despite the flickering of it Ohtori can still make out faces clearly. It's warmth is welcome, too, as now a cool breeze swoops through the trees, chilly from traveling the ocean.

Shishido disappears in the tent for a while until he's rooted up a pack of cards and a wearing sweater Ohtori had set aside earlier. "You don't mind, do you?"

Shaking his head no, Ohtori suppresses a smile. The sweater is too loose across the chest for Shishido-san and the sleeves swallow up even his fingers. They settle down, Ohtori cross-legged and Shishido on his stomach, and play a game of snap.

It's not long before someone has to smash the mellow mood to pieces. As usual chaos arrives in the form of a tiny red-head. 

"Hey, you guys, guess what!" Mukahi-senpai strides into the circle of firelight, a stack of magazines under his arm.

Shishido takes one look up from his hand of cards, scowls, and turns his cap the right way to hide his expression. 

"Is that what I think it is, Gakuto?" Taki asks, voice growing hopeful.

Nodding, he and Oshitari share a wolfish grin. "Porn," they chorus.

"Here we go," Shishido says long-sufferingly and then slaps his hand down hard on the pile. " _Snap_! Tsk, pay attention Choutarou."

"Ah, sorry," Ohtori frowns at his hand of cards. 

In record tempo the whole team, minus them, Kabaji (who's wandered off) and Hiyoshi (who's glaring at his book) is clustered around the magazines. Even Atobe debases himself low enough to mingle with the rest of them plebes, looking along over Jiroh's shoulder. Each time a page is turned a collective groan of 'Aaah' or 'Oooh yeah' rises from them. 

It's so distracting Ohtori continues to lose. "Never mind, Choutarou," Shishido says a bit testily after half an hour of his fumbling. "Just go-" he flaps his hand at the huddle of drooling teenagers, before rolling onto his back next to Hiyoshi and putting his cap over his eyes. His hand rests on his bare stomach where Ohtori's sweater has ridden up some. Ohtori's throat goes dry.

"Look at this one's tits!" comes breathily from the salivating huddle.

"Hm. Gakuto, I don't think that's a breast," Taki says after a considering pause.

"...then what is it?"

There's a beat of fearful silence.

"Let's just turn the page, shall we?" Oshitari suggests smoothly.

And then there's a loud, mingled groan of: 'Oh hell yeah', 'fuck yes' and 'oh god.' Only Atobe snaps, "Hands above the waistband!"

"You guys are being sick," Shishido yells at them from under his cap.

Hiyoshi looks up from his book, "I'd never thought I'd say this, but I agree with Shishido-senpai."

"Gee, _thanks_ Wakashi," Shishido counters mock-jovially and hits him in the ribs, but gently enough. Hiyoshi whisks his cap of in retaliation. 

Jiroh bounces over with a magazine, just as Shishido gets Hiyoshi in a headlock, and shoves it into their faces. Virtuously Hiyoshi squeezes his eyes shut against the image of a naked woman straddling a motorcycle. Her legs are wide-open and she's cupping her inflated breasts. Shishido just sighs and looks at Jiroh.

"Her breasts are really special! Look, just look!" Jiroh urges, flapping the magazine so hard there's not a chance of seeing anything.

"Let me guess," Shishido says, plucking the cap from the ground and putting it back on. "They're round?"

"Yes!"

"They're big?"

"Yes!!"

"They have nipples?"

"YES!!"

"Hm. Sounds pretty normal to me. Come again when you find a pair of purple ones or rectangle ones, we'll talk again. Okay? Run along," Shishido says, smirking as he lies down again. After a glance at Hiyoshi, who is still a little ball with his eyes clenched shut, he adds with a roll of his eyes, "It's gone, Wakashi, _jeez_ , get a grip."

"At least Hiyoshi has the excuse of a girlfriend to back him up, Shishido, what's yours?" Mukahi challenges, hugging the magazine to his chest as if to assure the woman inside that her breasts are perfectly amazing and that there's no need for other shapes of colors.

"Ah, maybe I have girlfriend too," Shishido points out casually.

"If you have a girlfriend, Ryou, I'll come to practice in a man-thong," Mukahi drawls, rolling his eyes. 

"Please don't," Shishido mutters, making a face. "And I never want to hear you say thong again, either."

"Why not? Thong, thong, thong," Mukahi chants, louder and louder still when Shishido gets up and screams to knock it off. 

"THONG! THONG! THO-"

Hiyoshi joins Ohtori near the fire. "Do you often feel as though you're the only normal person surrounded by complete idiots?" he asks, massaging his temples.

Suddenly Kabaji appears from out of the dark and sits down next to Ohtori. "Constantly," he says.

"Maybe it's an infliction only to strike the third years?" Ohtori suggests. 

The three of them watch Shishido and Mukahi struggle, clumps of grass flying everywhere. 

" _Ouch_! That hurt! _Aaah_ \- you're kicking my balls, you moron! I need those to reproduce!"

"Don't worry, I'm doing a favor to all of mankind if I happen to disable that function," Shishido cackles savagely. 

"Yuushi! HELP-" Mukahi shrills as Shishido gains the upper hand, sitting on the small of his back and pinning him down. He spits out grass and dirt and bucks and flails.

Oshitari turns a page of a magazine and says without glancing up, "In a minute, Gakuto."

"I'll be right back," Ohtori sighs resignedly and gets up to do damage-control.

Some things never change.

***

That night Ohtori lies on top his sleeping bag; the tent is still warm and humid after a whole day of pounding heat. The sound of the ocean's never ending pull and push is a soothing ambiance in the distance. He knows he's lying still, but Ohtori feels as though the ocean is still rocking him. Next to him, Shishido-san lies loosely curled on his side, facing him, naked but for loose cotton pajama bottoms. His breathing is heavy and steady, echoing the rhythm of the ocean. Sometimes he twitches and frowns, undoubtedly thinking about Mukahi being a general nuisance. 

Ohtori mirrors the position, his heart high in his throat as he watches him sleep. Almost, he lifts a hand to touch Shishido, but in the end he just lets it drop a few inches before Shishido's face. He patterns his breathing with that of the boy next to him and watches him dream.

Like this sleep comes quicker for him, too.

***

Once he wakes up, sometime early in the morning. Birds and insects are rampant already, working up a steady buzzing backdrop that will only get louder as the day progresses. But it's not that which woke him, nor the cool light illuminating the tent's interior. 

It's because Shishido is sitting up and trying to shift quietly through his bag. His profile is a darkly outlined against the canvas of the tent and Ohtori can see how Shishido's hair sticks up crazily. 

"Hmrf?" he manages in sleepy query as he shifts to his side.

Shishido pats his hair, like one might do with a cat. "Go back to sleep, Choutarou," he whispers. "I'm going out running."

Of course. Only Shishido-san is crazy enough to actually get up so early in an effort to stick to his usual routine. He's nothing if not obsessed when it comes down to tennis and his harsh condition-training.

Patting around the tent floor until he finds a limb that's not his, Ohtori clamps his hand around it. And freezes. It's hard and smooth, long and slender.

_Oh shit._

He can feel his face burn. Shishido is terribly silent.

"Shishido-san... what am I holding?" he manages in mortification, not daring to open his eyes.

There's a painful pause.

"My wrist?" Shishido says, a frown in his voice. "Look, let go, I need to-"

Choking down a laugh of relief, Ohtori holds him firmer, anchoring him in place. "We're on vacation. We're supposed to _relax_ , Shishido-san."

"But I-"

"Go back to sleep," Ohtori tells him, tugging him down.

After some token protests and a few grumbles, Shishido does, settling down on his back and dozing off instantly again.

Ohtori forgets to let go of his wrist and falls asleep, too.


	2. Chapter Two

**High Tides  
**

Last night's quarrel already forgotten, Shishido sets off with Mukahi painfully early for their scuba diving session. Despite openly whining about the hour, Taki goes with them, taking his camera along. It's hot-pants today. Red ones. Ohtori knows it's warm and all... but those shorts are really... _short_. 

Instead of Shishido-san, it's Jiroh who forces sunscreen on him. Half-way through he slumps over and drools on Ohtori's shoulder, so Hiyoshi finishes the job.

Morning is spend on the beach once more. Without Shishido and Mukahi to stir up trouble it's quiet and almost boring. Ohtori suffers the heat once more, reluctant to go swimming alone and too listless to do anything else. After yesterday, with the up-beat tempo and the excitement of being free of parental supervision, everybody seems content to just relax. Ohtori takes his sketchbook out and draws. The sea, the beach, the people, their heaps of bags, his teammates. His fingers turn dark from the charcoal, as does the side of his hand where it occasionally ghosts over the paper. 

"We can go for a walk, if you want. Maybe find more interesting things to draw?" Hiyoshi speaks up after he closes his mystery novel with a final snap. The title is hidden by a dark book-cover depicting cranes. 

"Sure, I'd like that," Ohtori agrees. 

Taking the proffered hand, Ohtori hoists himself up and then stuffs his book and pencil case in his backpack. 

Together they walk along the tide-line in silence. Hiyoshi is a person of few words at the best of times, but Ohtori never feels like he has to fill the gap with useless remarks and chatter. It's comfortable and soothing. After years of being friends Ohtori is able to read the subtle nuances in his friend's face. In that, he is the complete opposite of Shishido-san, who usually makes no effort to hide his emotions. Hiyoshi mostly always seems carefully neutral; composed. Once Hiyoshi mentioned that it's a habit from practicing kobujutsu, keeping his facial expression blank means it's hard for his opponent to read his next move. Of course, this can be applied in tennis as well. 

There's no smile on Hiyoshi's face, he looks as detached and aloof as ever, but Ohtori can tell he's happy. By his eyes maybe, and a bit by his mouth.

"Glasses are such a bother, they keep sliding down my nose in this heat," Hiyoshi says, using a finger to push them up. "I can't imagine why Oshitari-senpai wears them when he doesn't need them."

Ohtori picks up a cone shell, glossy white with dark spots spiraling around, and shrugs. "Because he likes how they make him look?" he ventures.

Sneering a bit, Hiyoshi answers, "That's a stupid reason."

Inwardly he agrees, but doesn't voice it out loud. Even after all these years he finds it hard to outwardly show disrespect to any of his senpais. That doesn't mean he unfailingly agrees with them, but most of the time he keeps his opinion to himself. Shishido is the only one of his senpais who will almost literally _force_ the opinion out of him when he feels Ohtori is censoring himself. Then again they are best friends. 

"Anyway," Hiyoshi goes on, not pushing Ohtori into agreeing, "did you get any sleep last night?"

The blush is instant, Ohtori can't help it. 

Hiyoshi smirks.

Defensive, Ohori says as casual as he can while his face is mimicking a red stop-light, "I did, actually. I woke up only once when Shishido-san wanted to go jogging at five-thrity in the morning."

"You're kidding."

Ohtori raises his eyebrows.

"Okay. Then again it's _Shishido-senpai_ ," Hiyoshi relents. "Psycho," he adds and then grins as Ohtori makes to whack him over the head. 

"He's dedicated," he tells Hiyoshi firmly. "What about you; did Jiroh-senpai snore loud?"

"Bah, like you wouldn't believe," Hiyoshi snorts. "And he mistakes me for his pillow, or something, he kept moving closer and closer until I rolled of my mat."

"Maybe he wants to snuggle?" Ohtori offers, keeping his face perfectly straight. 

Hiyoshi's mouth twists into a smirk, "At least my roommate _wants_ to snuggle, eh?"

It's meant as a joke, but Ohtori readily admits he can be rather sensitive. The remark cuts too close to the truth and he can feel his walls coming up like the bars of a cage. With a mighty throw he casts the shell into the ocean. It's a tiny dark blot traveling into the sky at amazing speed before meeting the water with a hollow plunk.

"I'm sorry," Hiyoshi says awkwardly. 

Ohtori glances at him. It's sincere. "It's okay," he answers. 

One major advantage in this friendship is that when they clash, it's almost always instantly resolved. Both of them can admit to being wrong. When he fights with Shishido it always feels to Ohtori as if their friendship can never recover. Shishido is a horrible person to have a fight with: he's like Rottweiler with a bone, he'll worry the issue until it snaps into two, this usually being the point _Ohtori_ snaps. On top of that he is awful at admitting he's wrong, which is usually the predicament. Nevertheless they always manage to resolve their conflicts, though Ohtori suspects Hiyoshi of 'having a talk' with Shishido-san once or twice. 

By now they've gone far enough to leave the lively tourist center behind. The beach is open and clean from stray rubbish, the only sounds are those of the gulls wheeling above and the endless swell of the ocean as the waves break on the shore. Wordless, they settle down in the sand. Hiyoshi is perfectly content to sit in silence, watching Ohtori draw without crowding him. 

There's time enough to draw the panorama the ocean provides in watercolor pencils. It's both calming and yet pulls all his focus into the act of capturing the casual cresting of the waves, the play of light on water. It's the first sketch he's able to work out into something decent and even though it seems full with glaring mistakes to him, it also leaves a sense of fulfillment when he's done. When Hiyoshi doesn't make any inclination to leave, he sketches a quick portrait of his friend. It's a simple composition with Hiyoshi in the foreground and the beach drawing the eye further into the picture towards the town in the far distance. 

"That's really good, Choutarou," Hiyoshi tells him gravely when he shows him afterwards. 

Ohtori isn't sure about that and knows Hiyoshi's artistic skills and knowledge is reduced to stick-figures when it comes down to it, but it's nice to hear anyway. The smile he gives Hiyoshi seems bright enough to catch his friend off guard. 

As they walk back side by side and both at ease, a girl comes sprinting up to them, screaming: "Stop him, _please_!"

Before Ohtori realizes it a dog shoots by. The impulse to catch it clashes with his slight fear of dogs and the creature is gone before he can make up his mind. Hiyoshi, however, dives for it and gets his hand on the leash that flaps behind it.

"Oh, thank you, _thank you_!" the girl pants when she catches up. There's tears in her eyes both from the exertion and from worry.

Hiyoshi gets up, a firm but gentle grip on the dog. It's a puppy and it wiggles playfully when Hiyoshi pets it. "You're welcome. Here," he says, handing her the leash. 

For a while Hiyoshi talks to the girl, his responses mono-syllables as usual, but with a slight smile on his face as he pets the dog. Ohtori keeps a weary distance. He knows the open mouth and lolling tongue and bared teeth aren't meant to be threatening, but he can't help it. 

As the two converse, Ohtori catches how the girl's smile grows brighter and her cheeks flush deeper. She's dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, simple and normal, a relief after the strutting bikini-clad girls from the beach. Hiyoshi politely says goodbye to her and Ohtori sees her stinging disappointment.

They walk on, the noise from the crowd steadily rising above the ocean's murmur. 

"Cute dog," Hiyoshi says with a smile.

"Cute girl," Ohtori says with a sly smirk.

Hiyoshi freezes, eyes going wide in distress. "Oh no! _Kiki_."

"Yes, _talking_ to a girl certainly equals cheating. Shame on you Hiyoshi-kun," Ohtori agrees, nodding solemnly. "I'd dump you if I were her. You cad."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Choutarou," Hiyoshi points out, but the roll of his eyes betrays his amusement. 

Back where the team spread out their towels, they arrive to the the sight of Shishido and Mukahi making expansive and wild arm-gestures as they relay their diving experience. 

"It was too a shark!" Shishido-san is growling at Mukahi presently.

"Not," Mukahi scoffs. "You're such a pussy."

"Was too!" Shishido counters. "And if anybody is a pussy it's _you_ , Gakuto."

Ohtori sneaks up close behind Shishido and hums the Jaws theme in his ear. Shishido all but jumps into Mukahi's arms in surprise. 

" _Jezus_ , Choutarou!" He exclaims, clutching his chest. "Don't startle me like that."

"Payback," Ohtori smiles at him. 

Nudging him playfully, Shishido grins up at him. "Uh-huh. Want to swim up to that buoy again, hm?"

"No thanks," Ohtori says with a shudder. 

When he sits down on his towel, Taki comes over and shows him the pictures. "Of course I could only make them before and after, but Gakuto paid extra to have the teacher take underwater ones as well, we can pick them up tomorrow," he tells him.

Ohtori browses through the menu, the small screen depicting images of his two senpais getting ready and receiving a lecture from the teacher about how to operate the equipment. The picture of Shishido in a wet-suit gives him a pause. He swallows heavily and pushes the camera back at Taki. 

"Uhm, nice pictures," he mumbles.

"Exactly my thoughts," Taki says, taking obvious delight in his discomfort.

***

Despite the fact that Shishido, Mukahi and Taki have returned, the afternoon is spend in a carefree and easy sort of atmosphere. Shishido and Ohtori briefly hit the water, but besides some teasing splashes and an attempt at tackling him, Shishido is fairly calm. They stay in the water long enough for their fingers to get wrinkly and then return to where the rest of the team sprawls like a pack of lazy felines. 

Atobe is roasting himself under the sun's blaze, unfailingly turning over every fifteen minutes. Jiroh has build a sandcastle so huge he can sleep without any fear of the sun in its shade. Hiyoshi is alternately reading and messaging his girlfriend. Mukahi is strolling down the beach with Oshitari, one fist full of feathers, the other reaching down to pick up more or to inspect a shell. Kabaji is knitting. Taki is filing his nails and then buffing them to a dazzling sheen.

On his own towel, Ohtori stretches out on his back. The shade of the umbrella offers protection against the rays of the sun, but not against the heat. He remains damp, not from the surf, but from sweat. He's not the only one reeking of sweat, ocean, lotion and junk food, so it's okay.

It's lazy and wonderful. Ohtori closes his eyes. Besides him Shishido moves around for a while, digging in his backpack, settling down, only to get up again and repeat his actions. Ohtori lets him, familiar with Shishido's way of moving, his craving for motion. After a while the movements cease and Shishido lies down himself. Soon enough he's migrated from his own towel to Ohtori's and they turn to face each other.

They talk in whispers and silences, gestures and answers conveyed by the arch of brows or the twist of lips. Moments like these are precious to Ohtori; when briefly all limits fall away and they seem to blend over into each other like watercolors on paper. Shishido's eyes seem huge and dark this close, his mouth soft and almost smiling. Ohtori doesn't understand that Shishido-san can't see the desire in his eyes, the building need to draw even closer and brush their mouths together. Shishido feels so open, so welcoming like this that Ohtori can almost taste the non-existant kiss.

He's sixteen and in love with another boy. 

_I want to kiss you_ , he means to say. _I need to touch you._

Instead they talk of tennis and school and a thousand other things that have nothing to do with what Ohtori feels. Caught in a paradox he feels close to Shishido and more alone than ever. 

And stupid and pathetic. 

They talk the language of two people who have known each other for years, gestures and nuances lost on anybody else. Ohtori watches Shishido smile, lop-sided but genuine, his rough voice soft. He watches, with a smile of his own, how Shishido's eyes start to droop, his words begin to slur. One moment he's murmuring a reply and the next his eyes refuse to open after a blink.

He's asleep.

Ohtori doesn't move and knows that anybody who cares to watch can see the open affection on his face. Dark hair is almost up his nose; the towel was not meant to fit two teenage boys, one of which is extremely tall. He can't stop the way he must look, moon-eyed probably, as he lies next to his sleeping doubles partner. 

***

Atobe and Shishido prepare dinner. Everybody else takes cover. 

For a while Atobe complains about not being able to believe that Ore-sama has to cook his own dinner, but as everybody is selectively deaf right then he concedes defeat and rolls up the sleeves of his designer-shirt. The rest of the team huddles together at a safe distance, in case of flying knifes or other kitchen utensils. 

"What are you doing?" Shishido demands at one point. "Are you mixing those two? I'm sure I read somewhere that mixing that can make it explode."

"Read," Atobe says. " _You_? Really? Congratulations!"

"Were you _born_ just to be a fucking pain in the ass, Atobe?" Shishido snaps. He stabs the salad in his bowl viciously, as if he can hurt Atobe by proxy if he just means it enough. "It comes so naturally to you."

"I'm only like that around you, Ryou. Feel honored."

"That," Shishido declares, prodding Atobe between the ribs with a spatula, "sounded really gay. You have a crush on me, admit it and- _DON'T_ _mix those two, you idiot!_ What did I just say?"

"Stop being shrill. It's grating on my superior and sensitive ears," Atobe says mildly. "And that last comment is also grating on my superior taste."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have far better taste in partners. I require them to be at least civilized. And last time I checked -as in five minutes ago- you are still sorely lacking in that department." Atobe, in a display of sheer courage and supreme confidence, deigns to pat Shishido on the head. Shishido looks at the trespassing limb as though he'd like to bite it off. Atobe apparently has no self-preservation and ignores it, saying instead: "Your time might still come, Ryou. _Might_."

"You couldn't have me even if you tried," Shishido returns, surprisingly not erupting into an outraged fit as everybody expects him to do. It's common knowledge, after all; Shishido is like a firecracker, light the fuse with an insult and watch him go off.

Atobe blinks. Then he rallies with a smirk, "Could too."

"Could not."

"Could too."

"Could not."

"Could too."

"Could-," Shishido pauses and makes a wry face. "This is fucking gay. I'm never talking to you again."

Atobe drops everything he's holding and clasps his hands, looking heavenward. "I've been waiting my whole life for this day. Thank you, divine beings."

"I hate you."

"Oh? You just said you'd never talk to me again. I thought you to be a man of your word, Ryou. I can't believe you'd break a promise," Atobe bemoans, hanging his head.

"If you don't shut up _right now_ , I'm gonna fucking kill you, Atobe," Shishido says, voice deadly calm and somewhat too serious to sound playful. "And as I am merciful, you may choose both method and means." One hand comes up holding a abnormally large, serrated knife, sunlight fleeing along the edge and winking at the tip. In the other he holds a corkscrew. "Which one will it be?"

At this point Ohtori looks at the rest of the team and asks, "Is this the part where I interfere?"

Flinging both arms around his neck, Taki exclaims dramatically, "Don't! You have so much more to live for!"

Hiyoshi stops pretending he's reading and looks at Kabaji, "Why couldn't I have attended a normal school? With normal people?"

"Often I wonder if it's _us_ who are not normal and the rest of them _are_. Since we're so vastly outnumbered," Kabaji answers in his deep, resonant voice.

All chaos comes to a grinding halt. Even Atobe and Shishido stop bickering to join the shocked staring everybody is subjecting Kabaji to.

"That's the most I've ever heard him say," Oshitari manages after a beat. "Please tell me someone recorded that?"

Mukahi is grinning and claps Kabaji jovially on the back, "You have a sense of humor. You should show it more."

"You do realize, Mukahi-senpai, that he's just applied said sense of humor to put you in a negative light?" Hiyoshi points out.

"What?" Mukahi blinks. Then he processes the conversation. "Hey! _Heeey_ , Kabaji! That's not nice."

"I'm surrounded by idiots," Atobe says loudly.

"You might not have noticed, but by 'the rest of them' he meant you, too, Atobe. Unless you're still a junior?" Shishido says, dropping all pretense of pretending to cook.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Atobe looks as if Shishido's just produced a lobster from thin air and slapped him around the head with it. Standing there, he just gapes at Kabaji.

"Poor Kei-chan," Shishido goes on. "So deluded."

Atobe shakes his head and glowers, "Did you just call me Kei-chan? Are you on drugs?"

Shishido shrugs and nods his chin towards Oshitari, "Yuushi calls you Kei-chan. And I think it's quite probable _he_ is on drugs."

"Rehab," Oshitari says simply when everybody turns to look at him suspiciously.

Hiyoshi throws his hands in the air with a strangled noise of a man's who'd been pushed to his limits. "I can't take this anymore," he says, "Choutarou, let's go. We're going into town to buy food. Hopefully it will be pleasantly devoid of idiots there."

As Ohtori passes the bench where Atobe and Shishido are standing he glances into a bowl at Atobe's elbow. The concoction bubbles and hisses like an angry cat. Inwardly praising Hiyoshi for his keen sense of self-preservation, Ohtori shares an apologetic look with Shishido-san and sets off to produce dinner that _won't_ kill half of the team. 

***

Evening is caught in a strange limbo of dark and light when they all settle down next to the campfire. It's the all-encompassing blue shadows of a summer night, dark but still strangely not at the same time. Almost as if the day is reluctant to leave yet.

Ohtori sits next to Shishido. Stomach full of not entirely healthy, but certainly not deadly, dinner. By the time Hiyoshi and Ohtori returned, Atobe's experiment had hardened to the consistency of a brick. Kabaji had gone to dispose of the evidence discreetly an hour earlier. Shishido-san's salad, however, was edible. To everybody's genuine shock.

"What? I can cook!" Shishido had exclaimed, outraged at their disbelieving stares.

To placate him Ohtori had asked for a second helping.

Now, hunger only briefly sated as is the way with teenage boys, they sit in the erratic light of the fire and talk amongst themselves. The air smells of the salty ocean, sun-scorched grass and the smoldering wood of the campfire.

An hour passes without incident or spats, which might be a personal record for Hyoutei's tennis team.

Then Mukahi rouses enough from his over-fed stupor and jumps up. "I got a real treat," he promises and darts into his tent. It's sounds more like a promise for an Armageddon come early to Ohtori and he braces himself.

"More porn?" Taki asks hopefully.

Shishido-san shakes his head no. Jiroh and he share a look. As Mukahi waddles back, burdened by an enormous bag filled with clinking and obviously hard objects, they both chorus, "Alcohol."

"You sound so worried, Ryou," Atobe says with a smirk. "Still can't hold your drink? I recall you getting quite sloshed by the second glass last time there was alcohol involved."

"This is where you shut up," Shishido mumbles, ducking half of his face into the collar of his t-shirt.

Ohtori is sure Shishido-san has never told him about _that_. He looks at Shishido, who just scowls, and turns to look at Atobe.

"Lightweight," is all Atobe offers.

No further explanation is forthcoming, but Shishido is red in the face and Ohtori sees him sip not even a drop's worth when the bottle is passed to him. Ohtori himself is careful too. He's never had enough alcohol to know what kind of drunk he is and none of the available options sound promising. He could get clingy, or weepy, or annoying, or whiny. Or he could turn out to be the honest sort of drunk, the one who tells everything. 

_In vino veritas_ , and all that. 

Though after taking a sip himself and making a face, Ohtori is quite sure it's not _wine_ in the bottle.

What with Mukahi proverbially kicking the situation downhill and cackling in glee, Ohtori finds himself poised in anticipation for the crash when everything inevitably plows into a painful halt at the bottom of that self-same hill. After an hour of nothing disastrous happening, Ohtori allows his guard down enough to relax. A bit too much so, as he drinks deeply without realizing it.

Naturally, that's when things start to go awry.

"Let's play truth or dare," Oshitari suggests.

"Let's _not_ ," Hiyoshi mumbles just loud enough for everybody to hear.

"I'm with Wakashi," Shishido says. "Truth or dare is lame. It's for _girls_. Last time I checked, none of us are."

"You've checked, Ryou?" Oshitari purrs at him.

"Stop looking so hopeful, you pervert," Shishido says, tossing a wad of grass and earth at him.

Ohtori's alarm bells are ringing at a deafening volume so he pitches in his vote against the game too. But as only the three of them are opposed to it, they are over-ruled.

It's a time-bomb ticking. Ohtori stops accepting the bottle, recognizing his spinning head is not coming from the heat of the day. Both Shishido and Hiyoshi retreat in surly silence, for as far as they're allowed to remain so. When their turn comes to assign a dare or ask a truth, they choose carefully neutral tasks for their teammates, almost as if hoping the same courtesy will be extended to them.

It's not, of course.

"Wakashi," Taki says with a falsely sweet smile. "Truth or dare?"

Whereas Shishido has been opting for only dare so far, Hiyoshi always picks truth. This time is no exception. "Truth," he says predictably.

"Have you and your girlfriend done it yet?" Taki asks.

Hiyoshi visibly reels, going so red in the face Ohtori worries he'll pass out from the unnatural rush of blood transferring upwards. The silence that follows lasts so long, is so strained, that Ohtori begins to fear something might've just gone and snapped in Hiyoshi's head, leaving him catatonic.

"He means sex," Mukahi supplies after a while, voice small.

"I know that!" Hiyoshi yells, suddenly convulsing into motion again. 

A shocked pause follows in the wake of his vehemence.

Then there's a small, "Yes," from Hiyoshi and everybody remembers to breathe again.

"Well then," Taki says, obviously relieved the moment is over. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now you pick someone."

Mostly Hiyoshi is a perfectly decent human being. He's holds to a strict set of morals and personal rules. Now however, in the wake of his humiliation, he seems determined someone has to suffer just as much as he is. And what better victim than his best friend? Ohtori pleads with his eyes for mercy, but Hiyoshi is like an oncoming train: unstoppable. 

"Choutarou," he says, smiling just as sweetly and falsely as Taki. "Truth or dare?"

Taking his chances Ohtori opts for dare. He's afraid of the questions Hiyoshi might ask him in this state.

Wrong choice, judging by the evil glint in Hiyoshi's eyes. "Hiyoshi-" he begins, pleading.

Hiyoshi barges right over him, intent on burying his own humiliation under one far bigger. "I dare you to stand on the pick-nick bench and drop your pants."

"Oh," Ohtori does a slow blink. Sure, that's embarrassing and all, but everybody here has seen him naked before. It's rather juvenile, come to think of it. Somehow he'd expected better from _Hiyoshi_ of all people.

With a sigh he stands up. "How long?" he asks resignedly.

"No _way_. He's really going to do it!" Mukahi exclaims, goggling.

"Er," Hiyoshi says unintelligibly, clearly having expected more resistance.

Shaking his head Ohtori mounts the bench, glares at Hiyoshi and drops his pants. It's _cold_. He crosses his arms and refuses to even so much as twitch. Presently, his only hope is that there's no family with little children returning to the camping this late. Or anybody else, for that matter. 

"It's okay, er, Choutarou," Hiyoshi blurts quickly. "Enghh, you can stop now."

Yanking his pants back up, he leaps from the bench and stalks back. As he takes his place in the circle again everybody is gaping at him in the most undignified manner ever.

"I feel deeply humbled," Oshitari says after a while, with a loose laugh.

Mukahi is still gaping. Taki uses two fingers to shut his jaw for him. It stirs him enough to blurt, " _Whoa_ , did you see-"

Thankfully Taki claps his hand just in time over Mukahi's mouth before that disastrous sentence is finished. Not fast enough to keep Ohtori from going a bright, tomato red, though.

Nevertheless, he turns to Hiyoshi and says, "Gekokujou, right?"

"Aa, right," Hiyoshi manages feebly. His glasses are askew and he looks uncharacteristically flustered.

And then Shishido bursts out into laughter and ruffles his hair amicably. "No more alcohol for you, Choutarou. _Holy hell_ ," he shakes his head and grins disbelievingly.

When Ohtori turns to Oshitari everybody physically tenses, fearing an eye for an eye, as the saying goes. But Ohtori isn't vindictive, so he settles for a fairly tame question when Oshitari picks truth.

It's well past midnight and everything seems process without anything worse than what Ohtori was subjected to. The alcohol does make the questions randier, more explicit and often sexual tinted, but as everybody has drunk their share they are more uninhibited than they would be. Their bravado and laughter mostly rule the mood. Only Shishido keeps picking dare, despite the stunt Ohtori had to do, and the rest mostly settles for truth. 

It's when Jiroh suddenly accepts a dare from Oshitari that Ohtori begins to see what, _exactly_ , Oshitari has been aiming for the whole time. The whole game has merely been groundwork. A slow, careful build-up for a crowning act. And Ohtori has a sense of trepidation that he might know what.

Oshitari smiles at Jiroh and says, "I dare you to kiss Gakuto."

"WHAT?" both boys scream, loud enough to probably wake the whole camping, if not the whole of Japan.

Crossing his arms Oshitari leans back, satisfied but challenging. 

It takes them almost ten minutes of huffing, balking, complaining and generally shouting and spluttering a lot before they work up the nerve to actually _do_ it. 

"This," Mukahi says shrilly. "Is stupid."

Jiroh kneels in front of him, looking sheepish but determined to get it over with. "On three," he says. "One, two, _three_!"

Both of them lean forwards at the same time and at such a speed they only end up cracking their faces together with a fleshy thump. 

"Ow, mwy lib!" Jiroh moans, clutching his mouth.

"And my nooze!" Mukahi says from behind the hands cradling his nose. "Dat hurt, Ziroh!"

"Yoo were suppozed to hold stilb!" Jiroh accuses him and spits a wad of blood into the bushes. 

"Shoul've told me dat, stoopid!" Mukahi fires back. Blood tickles from between his fingers. 

Ohtori gets the first-aid kit with a sigh. Soon after Mukahi is looking ridiculous with two wads of cotton up his nose and pouting, while Jiroh has bright orange ointment smeared over the bottom-half of his face like badly applied lipstick. 

The game goes on. 

Jiroh asks Atobe how many times a day he masturbates. Atobe answers about four times. The whole team bursts out in convulsive laughter. Atobe turns to Shishido, who's still doubled over cackling. He dares him to finish the rest of the last bottle. It's almost still a quarter full. Never one to back down, Shishido tosses it back and then sits making a disgusted face for a while. Then he directs himself to Oshitari.

"Are you still are virgin?" he asks.

Ohtori fully expects Oshitari to scoff suavely and launch into one of his sexual exploits. To everybody's everlasting wonder, Oshitari _blushes_.

"You're a real bastard, Ryou," he says instead, tilting his head so thick hanks of dark hair shield his expression.

"Uh-huh. Come on, Casanova," Shishido grins. "Out with the truth."

"I..." Oshitari glances at his hands, twisted together in his lap. "I, I- _yes_. Alright? I am."

Shishido nods to himself, "I knew it."

Mukahi makes an affronted face, "I don' belief you, Yuuzi! You'r teazin' me about id and yed you zdill haven'd don id yourzelf!" 

Pushing his glasses up with a finger, Oshitari counters defensively, "Yeah, well, I've got a reputation to uphold."

"That of a sex beast hailing from the Osakan wilderness?" Atobe asks smoothly.

Oshitari blushes some more. "Like you lot all graduated from 'sex 101' yet. I bet the only ones who are _not_ virgins here are Hiyoshi and Kabaji. Right, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

"See?"

"Dat's really zad," Jiroh mumbles. "We're all loozers."

"Please refrain from speaking in plural," Atobe says. "I could have any girl I wanted."

"But you're saving yourself for your true love?" Shishido says sarcastically. "How sweet."

Across the circle, Oshitari meets Ohtori's eyes purposefully. That's when Ohtori knows. Oshitari fully intends to do it now. Especially after Shishido wrenched that admission from him. Only one option is left to him: for Ohtori to open his mouth and put an end to this. Even though it will probably tempt a caustic treatment from Oshitari for a few days, Ohtori should do it. Speak up against his senpai, stop the game. He tries to tell Oshitari with his eyes: _please, don't_.

Oshitari raises his eyebrows. In the background Shishido and Atobe are still quarreling, but almost playfully so.

The look in Oshitari's eyes is final. Hyoutei is competitive. Hiyoshi took Ohtori down with him and Oshitari intends to do the same with Shishido. 

Now. He should stop it right _now_. While he still can.

But he doesn't.

His mind is telling him a stern 'no', but his heart is saying ' _yes_ '. Opening his mouth, Ohtori takes a breath. And instantly closes his jaw with a click. It's selfish and wrong, but he wants it _so badly_. Maybe it's the only chance he'll ever get. And he _wants_ it. 

Conflicted by his sense of right and wrong and teenage hormones making an even bigger mess of it, Ohtori casts his eyes down. 

Oshitari interprets it as defeat and moves in for the finishing blow. "Ryou, your turn," he says. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Shishido says.

Ohtori swallows and stares into the fire. It burns his eyes with its intensity, drying them up uncomfortably so. The fire is a bright lick of color reaching for the sky. It's pitch black now, clusters of a thousand stars overhead, bright glows studding the dark firmament.

"I dare you to kiss Ohtori."

Even though he knew it was coming it still feels like a punch to the gut. Ohtori stops breathing.

Everybody stops talking, shocked.

Next to him Shishido _freezes_.

"No," he says. It's a no with a capital N and a big fat full-stop at the end.

There's a beat of frosty silence. 

"All of us did all the truths and dares," Oshitari points out, matter of factly. Reasonably. It's not that he's being malicious, not really. "Jiroh and Gakuto did it," he adds mildly.

"Good for them," Shishido snarls. "But I'm not doing it."

It's seems the situation has finally arrived downhill. The crash isn't so loud as it is painful. Ohtori feels as though someone has pulled a plug in the center of his body and all his self swirls down the drain, leaving his body empty and cold. Why didn't he stop it? How could he be so stupid? 

Around him the situation deteriorates even further. Everybody recognizes that this is a step beyond the final line. It should be the same as Jiroh and Mukahi, but everybody feels it's _not_. But the challenge is hanging in between them and nobody can take it back. Shishido's temper flares like the fire they're warming themselves by, strong enough to leave ashes where he'll pass through.

"NO! I said no!" He's all but growling, having surged to his feet and looking wild.

"It's just a kiss, Ryou, calm down," Taki tries unsuccessfully. 

Briefly, for barely a second, Shishido glances at Jiroh. Pleadingly. Jiroh gasps, seeking a solution with a most anguished expression on his face. Nobody notices it but for Ohtori and Atobe.

"Shishido, sit _down_ ," Atobe says with his most authoritative buchou voice.

Remarkably, Shishido does, making a noise that sounds like threatening thunder in the distance. His anger radiates like a dark force around him and even like this, looking so hostile, Ohtori can't help but _want_.

"Stop being a drama-queen," Atobe says in clipped tones. "You're blowing this out of proportion."

There's a stale-mate. Everybody glares at each other, harmony disrupted. Mostly the team runs like a well-oiled machine; all components honed to perfection. There's friction, yes, but that friction is needed to make the machine move. Now it feels as though Oshitari has suddenly pushed a stick between the spokes and wheels and the machine is threatening to collapse under the increasing pressure. 

However, the damage is done and even Atobe seems to be unsure of how to proceed tactfully. If Shishido really decides to explode, everything will go flying. 

Ohtori takes a deep breath. Deep enough to draw all attention to him, even Shishido's.

"Choutarou-" he begins, but stutters to a stop.

Forcing an easy smile on his face, he puts a comforting hand on Shishido's shoulder. "It's just a game, don't worry," he says lightly, attempting to smooth the situation over.

Instantly he realizes it must've been the wrong thing to say. Shishido's face goes stony, his eyes narrow. Ohtori flounders, groping for something else, something better to say, anything to make Shishido-san _stop looking at him like that._

Jaw working in pure fury, Shishido snaps, "Fine! Whatever. Fucking... You'll have to- because I _can't_. Goddammit." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ohtori sees Jiroh make a strange movement, almost as if he wants to wipe the whole mishap out of the very air. Firelight makes Oshitari's glasses reflect into orange opaqueness, but there's nothing smug about him anymore. The rest of the team is so still it seems they blend into the scenery.

"Okay," Ohtori whispers, deliberately pushing everything else to the side and focussing completely on his angry friend. He nods, more to himself really, and moves closer.

Impossibly so, Shishido goes even more rigid under the hand Ohtori still has on his shoulder, as though he really has turned to stone. The firelight touches Shishido's hair to a play of black and burnished red, with auburn blending the two together. It's the only part of him that seems alive but for the erratic rise and fall of his chest.

Ohtori's heart races in his body, high in his throat and painful. This. He didn't want _this_. What did Oshitari expect? And what did he expect, anyway? Sparkles and flowers and heartfelt confessions of love? Nobody can push Shishido Ryou into doing anything he doesn't want to. He's like a force nature all by himself, he'll defy gravity _how_ and _when_ he wants. Nobody can _make_ him do it.

Except for Ohtori, which is precisely the reason Shishido probably hasn't punched him outright. 

"I'm-" he can't say the rest, but he leans close enough to feel the angry heat radiating of Shishido's skin. A moment stretches on unrealistically long as Ohtori takes a steadying breath and smells _Shishido_. Shampoo and grass. Sand and ocean. Him.

Then Ohtori kisses him.

He is as gentle as he knows to be and tries, at least, to pour some of his feelings into it. It's a slow and caressing peck of a kiss, completely genuine, and he slides his hand to the side of Shishido's neck, thumb touching the sharp slice of collarbone.

Shishido doesn't kiss back. 

Nor does he look at Ohtori afterward. Doesn't even yell. 

Ohtori eyes grow warm and he has to look away to hide it. There's a tremor in his hands. Then pulls back completely and huddles on his spot in the circle.

"Happy now?" Shishido says almost tiredly to Oshitari after a moment.

Nobody knows how to answer. Oshitari looks as though looking for an answer causes him physical discomfort.

"I'm going to sleep," Shishido says after a minute or two of cold silence. He stands, brushes his shorts down and disappears into the dark. The sound of the tent's zipper cuts through the cackling of the fire.

Then there's nothing.

"I'm so sorry," Oshitari whispers, belatedly.

***

Half an hour later Ohtori finally has scraped enough courage together to go over to the tent himself. The rest of the team moves noiselessly, a bit dazed even. Wisely they give Ohtori a wide berth. Any attempt at consolation might just push him far enough to lash out.

Carefully, he ducks into the tent. Closing the canvas opening behind himself, he kneels on his sleeping bag and waits for his eyes to adjust. 

Shishido is nothing but a still shape in the dark, breath coming in slow exhales. His back is to Ohtori and he's curled in on himself.

There's nothing Ohtori wants more than to take it all back. Even as much as he has drunk there's no excuse for what they did. Oshitari and he. Oshitari started it, but Ohtori finished it. Despite knowing better than that, Ohtori didn't stop him. Selfishly so. Never before has he been so ashamed of himself.

Quiet as he can, he pulls his t-shirt off and slips into his sleeping bag.

Sleep comes for him only in the soft dawn light.


	3. Chapter Three

**High Tides  
**

Next morning Shishido is gone. 

Mukahi screams at Oshitari, "Why couldn't you just leave it be?"

"I didn't know he'd react like that!" Oshitari counters. He feigns calm, but his mouth is tight. 

That gets a disparaging scoff, "Yuushi, _please_. It's Ryou. He always operates on extremes."

Oshitari takes a deep breath, "I didn't know he was... against, you know. He seems fine around Kikumaru. I would never have-" He's stopped pretending to be unruffled and looks at Ohtori, clearly upset. "I really am sorry."

"Me too," Ohtori manages after a thick swallow. 

The silence is all the more terrible in the cool light of morning. Shishido's absence leaves glaring hole in the team dynamic. It leaves glaring hole in the middle of Ohtori's torso. 

Mukahi makes an erratic gesture, "I'm going to look for him. His stuff is still here, so he's probably just being a stupid-head somewhere." With that he walks off, red hair flying around his face. It's easy to forget that he's one of the people who's known Shishido longest and is one of his best friends. They don't act like it, but they are all the same.

The other is Jiroh. Who has been very quiet so far. He sits next to Ohtori, close, as if offering physical comfort. His eyes are closed, but he isn't sleeping. That makes him the only one willing to approach Ohtori this morning. Ohtori doesn't know what his expression shows, but can't bode well if even Hiyoshi stays clear.

"He'll be back," Atobe says. "Don't worry. Shishido's like a weed; there's nothing out there that can keep him away for long."

Ohtori doesn't react, even though the comparison is a good one. Sure, Shishido-san will come back, but the crack in their friendship can't be mended. Ohtori thinks he knows why Shishido was so angry: he trusted Ohtori faultlessly and Ohtori betrayed that. The knowledge that Shishido most likely believed that Ohtori would put a stop to it and did the opposite instead, is what caused such a sudden freeze in his senpai. At least, that's what Ohtori suspects.

Everybody lingers around the campsite. Ohtori re-locates himself a few times, but Jiroh always seems to appear by his side sooner or later. Eventually he just goes to sleep on Ohtori's shoulder. Ohtori lets him. The alcohol leaves a slight headache, but nothing worse. Not like Taki, who keeps running for the bushes to puke his guts out. There's stains on his lacy shirt.

For all his big and confident words, Atobe is worried too. He sits in his fold-up chair and taps his fingers on a thigh. Though he probably worries more about his best doubles team suffering disrupted harmony during the Nationals, instead of the cold, sickening dread Ohtori feels.

The more hours pass since Mukahi left, the worse it gets. Ohtori understands the term heartburn now, but he sits stiff and unmoving and refuses to cry. Boys don't cry. Bile rises abruptly now and then, but he swallows against it, acid burning up and down his throat in waves.

Ohtori wonders why it's only Shishido for him. Thing is, Ohtori _likes_ girls. He really does. But he likes Shishido better. And even though Atobe is clearly more handsome, or Oshitari better build, it doesn't move Ohtori at all. Only Shishido. And maybe that's because he doesn't just _like_ Shishido. Ohtori knows it goes deeper, even though some might say he's too young to love for real. 

The rejection hurts, yes. More painful than anything he could've imagined. But the fact that in one fell swoop he also loses his best friend and tennis partner is enough shock to leave him almost numb.

Stupid.

_I've been so very stupid, why couldn't I be content with what we had?_ Ohtori sits and tries to keep his breathing steady. Books and movies and songs always seem to exaggerate the feelings of rejection, but they don't. They can't even mete against the sheer yawning chasm they represent inside of him. 

***

Mukahi returns. 

Shishido isn't with him.

"I've looked everywhere," he says, voice shrill and hoarse. His red hair is sweaty and sticks to his temples, the moisture coloring the strands to dark cherry. "I can't find him."

Ohtori forgets how to breathe properly and just gasps a bit to himself. Everything inside of him stops moving but for his heart which hammers in a panicky staccato against his ribs. The blades of grass blur together because he forgets to blink, or maybe it's finally tears. Instead he just stares wide-eyed and disbelieving at Mukahi and thinks wildly, _this is all my fault._

And then Jiroh opens his eyes and says loudly, _angrily_ : "You are all imbeciles." 

Even Atobe is struck silent by that proclamation from Jiroh -of all people! But he is also the fastest to recover. He's _Atobe Keigo_ afterall. "Again. Please refrain from speaking in plural," Atobe says. "Why do you always feel the need to do that?"

Jiroh shrugs, but he's still scowling. "Because it's true. You're all very stupid."

There's a beat of silence.

"Are you going to bestow us with an undoubtedly glorious and valid justification as to why you feel the need to call us imbeciles?" Atobe asks. "Or was that just another random brain spasm of yours?"

"Don't use so many big words," Taki complains, clutching his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. "Trying to keep up is making me nauseous again."

Atobe gives him a decidedly unimpressed sniff. "Why is taking you lot an a trip always so frightfully similar to a spectacularly bad episode from _The Bold and the Beautiful_?"

"I like the _Bold and the Beautiful_ ," Oshitari says rather randomly.

"Shut up, Yuushi," Mukahi hisses at him, still too upset to join in on the banter.

"Well Jiroh?" Atobe presses, crossing his arms and towering over the blond.

"Because," Jiroh says, teeth bared in challenge. "Ryou's like that."

There's another beat of silence.

"Like what?" Taki asks.

"Like _that_ like that?" Oshitari asks. 

"Yes," Jiroh answers.

"What like that?" Taki asks again. "Like what?"

"Oh," Atobe says.

"Like what? I'm confused!"

"Confused is one way to put it," Hiyoshi murmurs more to himself.

"Like _that_ ," Jiroh says to Taki almost defensively.

"I get that, but not like what that? What do you mean by _that_? I don't think it's the kind of _that_ that, since Ryou obviously isn't. Right?" Taki says. "Like that?"

Hiyoshi groans, turns to him and snaps, "What Jiroh-senpai means by 'that', is gay, Taki-senpai. Sheesh." But then he looks a bit dubious and glances at Jiroh. "That's what you mean by _that_ , right, Jiroh-senpai?"

"Right," Jiroh says with a nod.

"Glad we cleared _that_ all up," Atobe says with a theatric eye-roll.

For Ohtori the world has come to a grinding, shuddering halt. All he can do is stare at Jiroh in shock, his mind convulsing as it tries to link this new information to last night's events.

"I'm confused," Taki says again.

"We _know_!" Mukahi shouts, pulling at his hair in frustration.

"No, not like _that_ -"

"AARGH!" 

Taki rolls his eyes at Mukahi, "I meant to say, before Gakuto started freaking out, is that if Ryou likes boys, then why the hell are we having this problem right now? It's obvious he likes Choutarou--" Ohtori makes a strangled noise as his heart squeezes. "--so why didn't he just kiss him? Unless..." he swings his head to Jiroh, who is still looking mutinous. "Unless he already has a boyfriend?"

This time Ohtori's heart stops entirely. He whirls to Jiroh.

"No," Jiroh says. "He doesn't."

Taki blinks rapidly. "Yeah, okay, I'm confused again."

Mukahi splutters and then adds grudgingly, "Me too. And why do _you_ know, but not me?" he adds the last to Jiroh.

"Because you're a gossip. You'd tell Yuushi and Yuushi would probably try to play match-maker and then we'd end up.... uhm, like we did now." Jiroh scratches his hair. "Huh," he mumbles.

Oshitari doesn't even protest. Instead he's taken his glasses off and is rubbing his eyes. "You could have told us this some time sooner, Jiroh."

"Ryou made me promise," Jiroh says earnestly. Then amends, "Actually, he threatened me. You know how scary he can be."

"Oooh yeah," Mukah nods fervently. "Did he do that glare-and-snarl-combo thing? I hate it when he does that."

"Shishido always glares," Atobe says with a sigh. "Anyway, Jiroh, continue."

"No."

"What?"

"No, he'll kill me," Jiroh says happily. "If I tell. I can only say that he probably went crackers because he'll think Oshitari somehow found out about the being gay thing and used that to humiliate him." He nods sagely. 

"That doesn't even make sense," Taki sighs.

"I didn't say it would," Jiroh points out. "But, you know. It's like forcing him to debase himself in front of a person he really respects. He couldn't know you'd all be so casual about it, you know - _that_ -, plus he was worried you'd be disgusted and kick him off the regulars. So I promised." 

Oshitari looks stricken. "Ryou honestly thinks I would do that? Humiliate him like-" he can't finish the sentence and just looks genuinely crushed. 

On Ohtori's left, Atobe is experiencing somewhat of the same shock. "He thinks I'd kick him off the regulars for that?"

Jiroh shrugs. "People even loose their job because of it. It happens."

Suddenly Kabaji prods Ohtori between the ribs and the latter remembers to breathe. His inhale is an agonized shriek of air that leaves him lightheaded. The team remembers his existence and almost simultaneously raise their eyebrows to gauge his reaction. When Ohtori just sits, blinking, the looks turn worried.

"Well," Mukahi settles down next to him and awkwardly slaps Ohtori between the shoulder-blades. "This is sort of good news for you, isn't it? Besides the fact that Ryou was wicked pissed off and all-"

"Gakuto-"

"-and has run off to gods know where to be a stupid-head-"

"Gakuto-"

"-and Ryou's totally reckless when he's angry, so god knows what he's been up to-"

Oshitari claps a hand over Mukahi's runaway mouth and drags him away.

There's another prod between the ribs from Kabaji. "Right," Ohtori says feebly after another gasp of air.

"Wait, one more thing before we rejoice," Taki speaks up as he broodingly seems to sort through everything that's just been revealed. "So, did Ryou just tell you, Jiroh? Because it seems he was really worried about it, but for some reason he still told _you_. Why?"

"Oh," Jiroh rubs his eyes and yawns. He's getting sleepy again. "Well, uhm." He stands up, pats Ohtori on the head and goes to stand by Kabaji. "He told me, because I told him _I_ was like _that._ Actually I didn't tell him, I just sorta kissed him first-"

Ohtori (he doesn't believe it himself) makes a noise in the back of his throat that might even be labeled as 'threatening'. It's more shock, pain and utter betrayal really.

"- _don'tworryChoutarou!_ " Jiroh squeaks quickly. "That was like three years ago. It wasn't mutual. He just spluttered and went really _really_ red and pushed me away. I had a bit of a crush on him. Not anymore. He's all yours. I'm very sleepy. Can we go to the beach now?"

And with that, he dashes off.

Hiyoshi instantly grabs Ohtori's biceps. "Don't kill him," he implores. "They always find the body. And you can't fix things with that idiot if you're in jail. Okay?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ohtori manages a single nod. And then flushes bright red. He can't believe he growled at Jiroh. "Right. I won't." When he stands Ohtori's knees seem weak and his hands shake. "Right, uhm, I-I. Need to go for a walk."

Hiyoshi narrows his eyes and peers up into Ohtori's face as if to asses the killing intent invested in that decision. After a moment he lets go and murmurs, "Alright."

Swallowing, Ohtori nods again and walks off, body sluggish and mind dazed. 

As he leaves the clearing he can hear Taki ask loudly, clearly puzzled, "Waitaminute... Jiroh's like _that_ that, too?" 

"God, Taki, just shut up," Atobe groans.

***

It's late afternoon and the sun seems intent on scorching anything stupid enough to walk unprotected under her rays. Such as, let's say, a brooding Ohtori Choutarou. Overhead the sun flares red and hot. Hard enough his skin seems about to literally slither off his body in a disgusting melty-goop. And Shishido-san has been out in this heat since this morning. He really is a stupid-head, isn't he? Both Shishido-san and he. 

Ohtori tries to figure it out. Everything. Their friendship, the kiss and the reaction (or lack thereof)... and _that_.

So, basically, it's not because Shishido was disgusted for them being... well, both boys.

Which, logically, seems to lead to the conclusion that Shishido just didn't want to be kissed by _him_. The fact that Shishido likes him, as Taki pointed out, added by the fact that he likes boys doesn't necessarily mean that Shishido wants him the way Ohtori wants him. A boy could kiss a girl -his best friend even- and come to the same realization. Because it wasn't mutual.

And that leaves Ohtori in the exact same predicament as before. Only with Shishido-san in one of his infamous raging moods. Directed at him, no less.

The only thing this newest revelation contributes is that it more or less strikes off the possibility of Shishido being all-out disgusted. Which _is_ good news, sure. But...

But it's not mutual. 

With a great sigh, he rubs at his face. Things wouldn't have been so difficult and complicated if they'd been, you know, _normal_. A boy and a girl. That gives him a pause. Ohtori has a rather ambitious imagination. It promptly provides him with an image of a female Shishido. 

Ohtori bursts out laughing.

A random passerby pulls her young son closer and hurries away.

Oops.

But really, Shishido would kill him if he was able to read his mind right now. Slowly and painfully. Probably over the course of a few weeks. He's sensitive like that. There's no way he'd ever admit it, but Ohtori suspects the differences between them bother Shishido, at times. More than one person has exclaimed, shocked: 'you're taller than you look' when they come face-to-face with Shishido. And that's solely because Ohtori is so damn tall and Shishido slight of build and when standing next to each other... yeah. Like polar opposites. And that's not even adding the stark difference in both hair-color and temperament. 

Ohtori mulls this over, feet taking him from under the feeble shadows of the trees into the blistering heat of the dunes. To his left, in the distance, the ocean is glimpsed in winks of blue between the grass-topped hills. It smells nice. Salty and fresh. For an hour or so, he walks in perfect solitude. There's not a soul around. The landscape is a rolling plain of sand with clusters of bristly grass and thorny weeds fighting for survival in such barren ground. Beautiful, in a minimalist sort of way. 

Just as he's thinking about turning back, he spots a distinct change in the landscape. A barb-wire fence slices off a great part of the dunes. A plaque tells him 'No Trespassing' in red, bold Romanji lettering.

Ohtori doesn't really believe in Fate. He's more comfortable with the idea that it's his own actions that shape his life and future. But when he sees the upper wire snapped and coiling madly and dark brown splatters in the sand... It sure feels like it.

Like Fate.

Because who else would be reckless enough to try and jump a barbwire fence higher than his waist?

And maybe it's Fate that Ohtori's legs are long enough that he can carefully step over the intact, lower two wires. 

From there on, it's easy. There's only one trail of footprints winding deeper into the dunes. All Ohtori has to do is follow them and hope they do not belong to a grouchy park caretaker. Since those red Romanji were very clear about not being supposed to be here. Does this equal breaking and entry? Firmly _not_ thinking about that, Ohtori follows the trail, his own footprints covering the somewhat smaller ones. He feels a bit like a detective and, at the same time, downright naïve. The further he goes, the more he convinces himself he's being silly and that there's no way Shi-

Oh.

Instantly he ceases all movement. For a moment he even stops breathing, but as the lack of air is rather bothersome, he starts breathing as quiet as possible through his nose. Ohtori stays rooted to the spot for a good five minutes, cursing the way he spectacularly fails to blend into his surroundings, before he realizes there is no reason for stealth.

Not at all.

Shishido-san is quite clearly deeply asleep. 

Slightly on his side, arms and legs sprawling, Shishido sleeps, deep and heavy intakes of breath the only moving thing about him. At one point he must've had his head pillowed on his shirt, but he's rolled away from it and now sand sticks in his hair and coats the sliver of bare back that's tilted off the ground. Both his cheekbones and chest are faintly sunburned, like a delicate blush. And on Shishido's shin is a long red gash, alright.

For a moment Ohtori seriously deliberates turning around and walking away. Waking Shishido up means having to stomach Shishido angry at him and... and maybe even rejecting him completely and if that happens... well, he might just burst into tears. Childish, yes, but Ohtori fears he can't help himself.

Instead he gathers all his courage, scraping for every last bit within himself, and shuffles closer.

"Shishido-san?" he says, softly. His voice trembles horribly over the name.

There's a twitch, a frown and a soft grunt.

Ohtori comes closer. "Shishido-san, you've got to... got to wake up," he manages.

Again, nothing. Only the frown deepens into a scowl. 

It's so familiar Ohtori has to smile for a moment. Then he takes a steadying breath and crouches next to Shishido. Half-leaning over him, Ohtori lets his shadow slide up Shishido's chest and higher, until it blocks out the sun on his face. 

That does the trick.

A little too well.

Shishido is motionless for another exact second before he suddenly flies violently up, startled, and smacks his forehead right into Ohtori's mouth.

He lets loose a horrible yell of " _Crapfuck!_ " as he clutches his forehead, Ohtori's upper teeth neatly printed into his skin.

Ohtori squeezes his eyes closed. And touches his teeth just to make sure they aren't loose in their sockets, or, even worse, gone. The impact was hard enough to toss him onto his back and leave him reeling. Together they groan in pain for a few minutes. Then the throbbing pain abates into a nagging headache for Ohtori and Shishido pulls his hand away and checks for blood. Luckily his fingers come away dry.

"Shit," Shishido says with feeling.

"Sorry," Ohtori manages. As the numbness leaves his mouth, he can taste blood. He bit his tongue. 

As he recognizes Ohtori, Shishido's eyes widen. Ohtori braces himself. But he only exclaims, surprised, "Choutarou?" He rubs his forehead some more. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Ohtori answers. As if that isn't obvious. "You were gone for hours, I got worried. _We_ got worried."

"How long-" Shishido blinks at him. "Wait, what time is it?"

Ohtori glances at his watch. "Almost four."

"Shit," Shishido repeats again. "I-I woke up and couldn't get to sleep, so I went for a run and... decided to check this out. And then I thought, I'll just lie down for a moment. Four? Well fuck."

He means it. Ohtori can hardly wrap his mind around it, but Shishido-san is perfectly serious. And not angry. Just sheepish.

"We've been worried _sick_ about you-" he starts on a yell, but instantly forces himself to stop. His expression is still angry or upset, but the not yelling part is hard enough all by itself. So there they were, coming up with one theory of doom after the other, Ohtori nauseous with dread while Shishido was just _sleeping_ somewhere?

"I just pulled a Jiroh," Shishido tries to joke. "I was tired."

Ohtori glares at him. He doesn't do it often, but he does it now.

"Whoa," Shishido recoils. "Hey, what...? Worried? Why?"

For a moment Ohtori wonders wildly whether Shishido is just pretending nothing happened, or is just being dense. Mood swings are his speciality, but this seems even a bit far-fetched for him. And what is he supposed to do now? Play along, despite not knowing if Shishido means it, or not? Act as if nothing ever happened? As if he didn't try to kiss him and got rejected? And isn't that maybe for the best? The questions whirl through his mind like a hurricane and he just opens his mouth without actually saying anything. 

And then it's too late to make up his mind. Shishido can read him well, after all. 

"Oh," he goes and looks away for a moment.

And there is the awkwardness. It's better than anger or a cold front, but it still slices deep.

Shishido, still not looking, stands up. Idly he brushes the sand of his skin. It falls in a dry hiss at Ohtori's feet. 

_Dammit, dammit, dammit. Do something!_

"I am so sorry, Shishido-san," he chokes out. He wants to add, please don't stop playing tennis with me, please don't stop being my friend, please don't hate me, please don't _leave_. But that's too desperate and mauldin to actually put into words. Shishido would think him stupid, uncool, even girlish.

"Choutarou," Shishido says. It's a snap of a command like, _don't twist your wrist!_

It _twists_ Ohtori's heart. 

"Choutarou, look at me," Shishido says, sounding frustrated. 

A hand is proffered. After a blink he grabs it and lets Shishido pull him to his feet. 

"Don't worry about it, alright?" Shishido says, sounding strangled. "I'm the one who is sorry. I just... I dunno, freaked. I don't like- well."

Ohtori can't believe his ears. There's nothing else to do but gape as Shishido _apologizes_. And it's sincere, too. Not the 'oops, I accidentally stepped on your toes' kind of sorry, or the 'I'm late' sorry. And neither was it an apology pulled out of him by wild horses preceded by days of fighting. The times this has happened Ohtori can count on one hand and still have fingers left over.

"I-" Ohtori says and stops.

The lean length of Shishido's back arcs before his eyes as Shishido reaches down to pick up his shirt and cap. The bumps of his spine pull the skin into a knobby ridge, starting at the base of his hairline and disappearing into his shorts. And right where Shishido's lower back starts, ever so slightly, to curve towards his bum, are two shallow dips on either side of his spine. For some reason this is the most erotic sight Ohtori has ever seen and his breath rushes out of him as though Shishido really did punch him. Muscles move as Shishido straightens, puts on his cap and then proceeds to shake out the shirt. 

"I-" he manages again.

"Look, forget it," Shishido says with a last shake. Sand whispers to the ground.

"But-"

"As you said," Shishido interrupts. His voice is suddenly hoarse. For a moment he darts his eyes up towards Ohtori's face, lightning-quick, and then he turns his head towards the ocean in the distance. "It was just a game, right?"

_...Right?_

And that's when Ohtori _gets_ it.

That's when he finally realizes it. All this time he felt as though he was the one chasing Shishido, but actually the one who's being chased is _him_. 

His insides seem coiled like spring, ready to burst with the slightest surge of emotion and Ohtori is shaking all over, his hands, his lips, tremors up and down his body. And he just can't stop himself from touching Shishido, can't stop himself from reaching and pulling off that cap. It's removed with yet another rustle of sand as it slides out of Shishido's hair. 

All this goes very quickly, before Shishido even has the time to react. 

And that's when Ohtori kisses him.

Not his mouth, not like yesterday. 

The back of Shishido's neck. 

Sand clings to the warm skin and sticks to Ohtori's lips. He smells amazing, salty from sweat and the ocean and like soap and very much just... just him.

"Choutarou?" Shishido's voice is very, very quiet. It's almost lost in the rushing backdrop of the ocean and if it weren't for Ohtori still leaning into him, he'd have missed it.

When he doesn't turn to face him and demand what the hell that was, Ohtori leans just a bit closer, until thick, soft hair tickles his nose. "No- I. Not for me," he says thickly. 

"What?" Shishido hisses. Now he glances over his shoulder at him. He looks angry, yes, but also very confused. His eyes aren't narrowed, but wide and vulnerable. 

"Not for me," he repeats. Ohtori leans in even further, his cheek resting in Shishido's hair. "It wasn't a game for me."

There's still a chance he could be wrong. There's still a chance Shishido-san might balk and draw away from him, or get confused and splutter in embarrassment. But Ohtori doesn't think he is, now when he realizes how Shishido has completely pulled a one-eighty, apologizing for something that isn't really his fault, for something he could rightfully be disgusted of, or freaked out, or angry even. 

"What?" Shishido echoes. 

Ohtori throws all caution to the wind. He'll regret it for ever if he didn't. "I've wanted to... to do. That. To you," he swallows. "Kiss you."

" _What_?" 

He's wrong. Shit, he's _wrong_. Ohtori feels his insides heave, his throat closes up and strangles the breath out of him.

"I- I'm sorry, I-"

But he doesn't get any further.

Shishido turns, looks up at him, takes a shuddering breath and looks away again. And then his hands clamp on Ohtori's biceps, painfully so, and he tip-toes, head tilting up, and brushes his mouth across his.

Almost instantly he pulls back and goes bright, bright red. 

They stare at each other for a moment. Ohtori is shocked, Shishido seems startled, even though he was the one to kiss him.

"Choutarou," he says, tearing his eyes away and directing them to the ground once more. "This. I don't know about this, I don't-"

Not giving Shishido the chance to panic Ohtori all but _lunges_ , one hand curling around Shishido's shoulder, the other pressing at the bare small of his back to coax him up and kiss him.

Shishido makes a strange noise, something that might translate to 'what' or 'Choutarou' rolled into one. But not stop or no. He doesn't need to hear it to _feel_ it. There's no 'stop' or 'don't' in the way Shishido grabs onto his t-shirt, nor in the way he growls, if such a sound can be entreating. All he does is splutter and then melt against Ohtori, into him, as though he belongs there.

Very sure he'd only intended to move in and kiss him quick, that and no more, Ohtori finds himself quickly _yielding_. Shishido seemed to melt, to submit, only to suddenly dig his nails in and surge forward like a dam collapsing. Shishido kisses like he plays tennis, a bit rough, but passionate and with every bit of himself poured into it, no reserves. And then, then there's a slick, hot swipe across his lips.

God. Shishido is _kissing_ him.

Ohtori's knees give clear out and he crumples to the ground. Like a shadow, Shishido fluidly sinks down after him, straddling over his body without resting any weight on Ohtori. The movement disconnected their kiss and Ohtori finds himself staring up at Shishido, whose dark hair is highlighted in reds and browns by the setting sun. Though the kiss was wild and unreserved, the Shishido looking down on him seems afraid, almost, if fear and Shishido can exist in the same universe, because Ohtori certainly didn't think it was possible. None of the endless memories he has of Shishido-san match to the current expression on his face. He doesn't kiss Ohtori again. 

His eyes are wide, surprised.

Ohtori says the only thing he can think of, stupid and needy though it might sound. "Don't stop."

A surprised blink is all that gets. Then Shishido sits up and Ohtori is faintly amazed to realize that his wrists had been pinned down on either side of his head and are now released. 

"Uhm," Shishido says. He looks poised to say one of his patented Very Stupid Things. 

Ohtori decides to stop him from doing so. Now that his hands are his again to do with how he pleases, he reaches up to touch Shishido's mouth, not really silencing him, but certainly preventing him from saying Very Stupid Things. Shishido stares down at him, eyes too wide, as though he isn't the one to have pressed Ohtori down into the sand a moment ago. Holding his attention, letting everything show on his face, no matter if he seems moon-eyed, Ohtori makes sure Shishido can see it, all of it, before cupping a hand at the back of his neck and pulling him down.

There's only a gasp as their mouths touch again, but their eyes are still open and locked.

Not saying it, Ohtori thinks, _I've wanted this for years. I'm in love with you. Idiot._

It's only when Shishido gives a huff of laughter that Ohtori suspects he might have said the 'idiot' part out loud. But that's okay, since apparently it puts Shishido-san at ease, relaxes and soothes him enough to make his eyes flutter closed as he kisses him, over and over, hands cradling Ohtori's face.

***

When they walk back to the camp, almost two hours later (spend kissing no less) Shishido shakes his head and grumbles, "I suppose there was a good reason you let me make a fool of myself before deciding to _tell_ me?"

Ohtori, heart still soaring and head half in the clouds, drops back to earth long enough to counter, "I suppose there was a good reason you allowed me to follow you like a love-sick puppy for _years_ before deciding to tell me?" 

There's a shrug. "Touché," Shishido says. "But I really didn't know."

"How?" Ohtori frowns, "I don't know how that's possible. Shishido-san, the whole team _knows_ -"

"That's just smashing-" Shishido snarls.

"I didn't _tell_ them!" Ohtori says loudly. "It was obvious to everybody, but _you_."

Shishido trips. He regains balance quickly enough and studiously looks towards the ocean once more. "Oh," he says. 

"Yes, 'oh'," Ohtori echoes. "I always wondered whether you were just that blind, or whether you were too kind and indulged me."

"Uhm," Shishido says.

"Exactly," Ohtori says, not a bit smugly. 

That's gets an eye-roll, but at the same time Shishido flushes, his sunburn darkening. 

They walk in silence for a while. Before long they leave the dunes and enter the marginally cooler forest. Ohtori doesn't know whether or not he's allowed to touch Shishido, even though he can remember how it felt to have Shishido's tongue sliding between his lips and into his mouth, so vividly that he becomes acutely uncomfortable when he thinks too much about it. To be honest, he hadn't really wanted to go back to the camp, where everything would be awkward. He wouldn't have minded to just stay there, laying in the sand, kissing and nothing more. Ohtori doesn't like talking about love or feelings, because saying it, actually putting it into words, makes it sounds so cheesy and forced.

But...

He has to ask, right? And what better time than now? Maybe if he didn't they'd just part ways after the camp and it would be too late to talk about it.

So.

"Shishido-san?" he says.

There's a grunt. Shishido doesn't look at him, just ruffles his fingers through his hair in effort to get more sand out of it.

"Is...is this really okay? Are we-" Ohtori looks at the ground, watching the tips of his sneakers kick up dust. "Okay? Will you still play tennis with me?"

There's a pause.

Then Shishido whacks the back of his head. Sure, he's not as tall, but certainly tall enough to do _that_ with a flourish. And he's had years of practice besides.

"Ouch! _Hey_ -"

"Baka," Shishido says, but he's laughing a bit. "Why the hell wouldn't we play tennis anymore now, huh? If anything you'd think our combination might improve." As if to soften his words, he brushes his knuckles against Ohtori's. 

After a moment Ohtori brushes back and with a small hesitation, takes Shishido's hand. To be sure it's not too much, strange or girlish, he carefully watches Shishido's expression.

Shishido doesn't look at him, but he goes a bit red as he moves his hand and laces their fingers together.

***

"Where have you been?" Mukahi shrieks as soon as he spots them. Next he's got both hands fisted in the front of Shishido's shirt and starts to shake him. Shishido's teeth clack as his head lolls back and forth. 

Plucking Mukahi's white-knuckled hands away, Shishido shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. "Sleeping," he says.

Mukahi whirls his head towards Ohtori for verification. 

Ohtori nods.

"You bastard," Mukahi snarls, shoving Shishido. "I thought you'd gone and died in a ditch somewhere!"

"Wishful thinking," Atobe murmurs.

Shishido spares a second to glare meaningfully at Atobe before smirking down at Mukahi and saying, "You missed me. Admit it."

"Did not. Like I care," Mukahi sneers, crossing his arms and sniffing haughtily. "It's just that your mother would grind me into dog-food if I'd let you go and get yourself killed."

"I was tired and fell asleep somewhere. Next thing I knew I'd nearly brained myself on Choutarou teeth," he points to the faint half-cricle of fading teeth marks on his forehead. "Stop freaking out. You're so high-stung."

Content that everybody settles easily into the usual dynamic, Ohtori decides to fetch the first-aid kit to try and patch Shishido's shin together. He's half in Atobe's tent, rooting around between plastic bags, bottles of water and coolers when Oshitari joins him. 

"Was he very mad?" Oshitari asks. It obvious he feels bad about what happened and seeks to make amends by showing he really is concerned. 

Ohtori really doesn't know what to say. So he just shrugs and answers, "It's okay." If he looks Oshitari directly in the eye, he'll betray himself. It's nobody business but Shishido's and his. And even though part of Ohtori feels invincible enough to shout his happiness from the rooftops, the other, decidedly more rational part, wants to keep what happened private. Not because he's ashamed, far from, but out of the knowledge that they'll have to be careful. 

Though, somehow, Oshitari seems to be able to tell anyway. Perhaps by the look on Ohtori's face. More likely by his pointed reluctance in expounding. Thankfully though, he doesn't smirk. Instead he looks deeply relieved and murmurs, "That's good."

"Don't tell anyone," Ohtori whispers to him. "Please senpai." 

"I won't," Oshitari promises. "Though the two of you are painfully obvious. I suspected it from the moment you both walked into the camp."

Ohtori groans softly. So far for being subtle, then.

Oshitari pats his back and straightens. "I'm going to try and smooth Ryou's ruffled feathers. He still seems rather snippy with me." 

And with that he leaves Ohtori alone. 

An hour later Ohtori is re-heating dinner close to the fire, enough for just Shishido and him. He works slowly as Shishido has been gone with Oshitari for quite a while. Besides this, everybody carries on more or less like they always do, carefully _not_ mentioning certain recent events and a certain someone's temper-tantrum. Nor is there any mention of that certain someone's certain preferences. Everybody besides Taki, that is. 

Ohtori can hear him hiss furtively at Jiroh, "You sure he's like _that_? Cause he doesn't act like it. He seems the same as always."

"Of course he does. Because he is, isn't he?" Jiroh answers on a yawn.

"Like _that_?"

"No," Jiroh says, drawing out the word. "The same."

"Oh," Taki answers. He stares into space for a moment, considering, and then frowns. "Then how do you know?" 

Jiroh makes a questioning noise.

"How do you know when someone... when a person is like _that_?" Taki clarifies almost urgently. "I can't tell."

"Most of the time you can't," Jiroh amends. "I knew because I really liked it when Ryou wore his tennis shorts."

Ohtori nearly snaps the chopsticks he'd been using to stir the pot with in half. 

Next to him Hiyoshi -Ohtori can't tell when he appeared there, he was too busy eavesdropping- remarks dryly, "Think soothing thoughts."

He knows there's no real reason to be jealous of Jiroh-senpai, yet Ohtori can't help himself. Apprehending that Jiroh has known Shishido-san longer than him, knew things about him Ohtori didn't and has _kissed_ him, is enough to set Ohtori aflame with... not anger really. Possessiveness. And he knows Jiroh doesn't like Shishido like that anymore, that it was three years ago and that Shishido didn't kiss him back. Still, it's an irrational gnawing at the back of his mind that wants to spur Ohtori into doing something as stupid as kiss Shishido in front of _everybody_. Simply to mark him as his.

With a groan Ohtori puts head in his hands and asks Hiyoshi, "Is this going to get worse?"

There's no need for an explanation. They've known each other since grade school.

Hiyoshi nods and says, "Oh yeah."

"Damn," Ohtori says.

***

Somehow it's not Shishido who looks flustered or agitated when they return, it's Oshitari. Shishido seems terribly smug about something. Ohtori decides not to ask. 

Joining him near the fire, Shishido accepts his portion with a hum as he inhales the smell. "Thanks," he murmurs and quirks a smile at Ohtori. 

It makes Ohtori wish they were alone so he could reach for him and kiss him again. Instead they eat in silence as dusk starts to settle in. Shishido's dark eyes reflect the flames in such crystal-clear detail it's hard for Ohtori not to stare and imagine Shishido look with a different kind of fire in his eyes at _him_. He tries for a more pragmatic course of thought.

"I should clean that wound on your leg, Shishido-san," he points out. 

Shishido glances at it with the air of someone who hasn't even realized it was still there. "Oh," he says, poking it with a finger. "Yeah, but later. I'm gonna hit the showers first, I probably still have a bucket's worth of sand stuck in my hair."

Nodding, Ohtori realizes he should probably do the same. After he's finished and has cleaned his bowl, Ohtori stuffs a towel, clean clothes and soap in his backpack and departs for the showers. Shishido is still sitting by the fire when he does, chatting with Mukahi. Though, by just listening superficially, it seems they are arguing. But that's just the way they interact.

It's dark enough everything between the trees and behind buildings is lost in shadows, and yet the rest remains bathed in an almost luminescent white-blue. The white painted brick building seems ever the more bright because of it, but eaves cast a shadow as dark as ink. Inside Ohtori decides against turning on the lights. He likes this part of the day, where everything seems to get caught in a lull of ease and settles down without being passive. Nostalgic almost of him, but instead he makes do by the light slanting in through the high windows. 

Ohtori strips down and chooses a stall. He feels gritty and sticky after a day spend worrying, searching and rolling around in the sand. Cool water hits his shoulders and Ohtori just tilts his head back and sighs contentedly. It's almost surreal to think that just an hour or so ago Shishido lips were against his, that they were _kissing_.

Ohtori is thinking about this, fighting the urge to touch himself, when the door of the building clicks first open and then closes with a well-ioled snick. Time has taught Ohtori that the movements, the footsteps and rustles are Shishido's. Which is unnecessarily confirmed when there's a hollow thud and a sharp curse as Shishido bumps into something. Hearing the angry muttering makes Ohtori wish Shishido-san would be more careful. Not that he's clumsy, far from actually, but he's care _less_. A typical 'jump first and worry about landing later'-attitude. It's no wonder he's always black and blue and scratched up all the time.

It's no use to try and stop himself from visualizing the process of Shishido undressing. Each rustle or whisper of clothing is matched to an item removed, or buttons popped open. He's had years of practice at this particular indulgence and when he imagines the last step -Shishido stepping out of the boxer-shorts pooled around his ankles- the noises of undressing cease. Next is the rattle of a shower-curtain being pulled back. Close to him. Probably next to him, maybe, as it sounded very near. Ohtori cants his head back, letting the spray sprinkle his face.

Something suddenly touches him between the shoulder-blades. Ohtori jumps, let's out a surprised yelp and hits his head against the shower-hold. 

The sharp pain in his skull is nothing, _nothing_ compared to how his heart first slams into a full-stop and then into a pounding overdrive when he whirls to see Shishido-san standing there.

Naked.

Ohtori doesn't know what to do. It's like he's died and gone to heaven, but somehow landed in hell at the same time. "What?" is all he manages, his voice abruptly rising a few octaves like it did when he was fourteen. "What?" he asks again, pressing back against the tiles.

Shishido tilts his head at him. "I can leave if you want," he offers, sounding half-amused and yet a bit insecure. "I just thought..." 

And just like that his eyes flick purposefully _down_. To Ohtori's erection. They both blush. Ohtori would like to know what Shishido has to blush about when _he's_ the one standing there with an aching hard-on and an equally aching bump on the crown of his head.

"I-" Ohtori starts, voice still high.

"It's too soon, right?" Shishido blurts over him, cutting his eyes away. "Yeah. Right. Shit, I'm so sorry."

Just like that, he turns to leave. He's already half out of the stall when Ohtori's brain catches up with the situation and he lunges after Shishido. With one arm around Shishido's middle he hauls him bodily back into the shower.

"Sorry," Ohtori whispers, letting go of him abruptly and yet immediately reaching out once more to hover his fingers a breath's away from Shishido's skin. "You startled me. I didn't expect you to..."

Shishido looks up at him, gaze intent. A hand of his comes up and settles against Ohtori chest. It takes Ohtori a moment to push the surge of arousal down long enough to realize Shishido is feeling for his heartbeat. Whatever he feels there doesn't seem to please him, as he steps back. Ohtori frantically worries that Shishido can tell how desperate he is for... _this_ , whatever it is, anything really, and has decided Ohtori is too lame and childish for him. 

Fingers move up and touch Ohtori's chin. "Look," Shishido says roughly, "we don't need to do anything you don't want to. Just say stop, okay?"

Ohtori can only nod. Once again he marvels that Shishido-san can't tell Ohtori won't ever say stop. He's ready. He's been ready for more than a year now. Anything that Shishido would willingly give him, Ohtori wants. With an urgency that mostly baffles Ohtori and would maybe even shock Shishido. His senpai might think he's the one being considerate, but it's actually Ohtori who's being considerate. He doesn't want to scare Shishido away. Not when he's naked and wet and perfectly beautiful just standing there. 

"Promise," is all Ohtori says, since it seems that is what Shishido needs to hear.

And he doesn't reach for Shishido either. By now he's thinking clear enough to be able to tell Shishido-san is probably more nervous about this than Ohtori is. He doesn't want to crowd him, or push him. He does touch him, the palm of his hand cupped against his neck, but no more.

After a moment, Shishido steps close enough so that the spray hits him too, flattening his dark hair and coating his skin with drops of water glinting like liquid diamonds in the fading light. It's so difficult not to stare blatantly with Shishido so close and simply perfect (and. naked.) just _standing_ there. Especially with Shishido gazing up at him, demanding eye-contact. The water has spiked his eyelashes together and beads of water slide down his cheeks like tears and those eyes are so intense, so real, Ohtori fears he's going to come right there and then. 

And he nearly does when Shishido takes that last step closer to Ohtori, pressing skin-to-skin and opening his mouth in a hot slide against Ohtori's collarbone. 

Yet suddenly it's easy to keep himself from all but lunging at Shishido, suddenly it easy to just put his arms around the other boy and simply hold him as Shishido mouths his way up to his neck, tip-toes, drags his lips over the round of his chin to settle on Ohtori's mouth and kiss him. 

No words would ever be able to describe _this_. Ohtori's mind manages snapshots of impressions: Shishido's _skin tongue scent arms hair eyelashes cheeks hands legs_ added by _wet warm soft hard smooth slick_. Maybe the only word that mostly captures the moment is wet. They're still under the shower. Shishido's face is beaded with drops and when those drops are joined by more, they slide slow and erratic, down, slicking against his throat, more a trickle. Then they pool in the hollow of his collarbone, a continuously flooding shallow, so the water immediately spills down his chest, which brushes against Ohtori, and there the trails meets those mirrored on Ohtori's body and together they form a rivulet between their torsos. And while that process repeats itself endlessly, Shishido's tongue slides against his, unhurried, tasting of mint gum and even wetter with the water.

Ohtori fingercombs through the short tresses with one hand while the other is stranded somewhere near Shishido's waist, pad of his thumb still on a slice of a rib, the rest of his fingers splaying against warm, almost buttery soft and smooth skin. This time under his hands Shishido slowly relaxes, muscles loosening and Ohtori grasps just how nervous he'd truly been. Nervous he might have been, Shishido wanted this. It's in the way he kisses, in the way his hands touch Ohtori as if he's attempting to map his body by doing so. Somehow the water makes it more intense, more sensitive when lips press and cling together. The kiss grows more sloppy, mouths meeting and slanting, sliding warm and open together. 

Just when he thinks that this is it, that this is the furthest Shishido is willing to go, Ohtori relaxes enough to let go of his frantic stranglehold on his urgency, his need, to deeply kiss Shishido in a wordless 'this is what you do to me'. Shishido tenses, and Ohtori tenses with him, panicked. 

Suddenly Shishido draws away, comes down from standing on his toes and when he's face-to-face with Ohtori's neck (though he has to cant his neck far back to reach), he bites. 

Ohtori gasps, startled. For a moment he's not sure whether he likes it, but in the exact same instant he has to close his eyes and takes a few open-mouthed breaths to push down the sudden swell of orgasm. 

Shishido, misinterpreting his hiss, pulls his mouth away and manages a hoarse, "Sorry."

"No, it-" Felt nice isn't right, it hurt a bit to be honest, but, _God._ Wow. "I liked it," he says instead.

Nevertheless the head-along passion is gone, maybe for the best, but the intimacy isn't. It's not even as awkward as Ohtori always feared it would be. And now that those few words have made a break, Ohtori finds it strangely easy to let go of Shishido to grab the soap. After squirting a dollop in his palm he slicks it into the dark, dark hair just below his own chin. "Okay?" he asks, tentatively massaging the scalp, working the sand out of Shishido's hair. 

Shishido tips forwards into him, his face resting against a shoulder. As though boneless, he leans against Ohtori. A smile is pressed into his skin. "Hmmm... feels good," Shishido murmurs.

It's nice to do this for him, to drag his fingers along with the hair and see how much such a simple action soothes Shishido. He rubs the pressure points, caresses the back of his neck, long enough until the shampoo is removed and the sand with it without using the showerhead. 

Shishido hums again, voice gritty and low. "Hmm. S'nice," he murmurs against his lips, not a kiss really. "Now you."

After a moment, Shishido nudges him around until his back is to him and Ohtori accommodates him as much as he can by tipping his head back. Even then Shishido presses close to reach properly, so close Ohtori feels something hard and utterly male brush in a searing hot brand against the back of his thigh.

Oh God.

Oh.

God.

_Don't come now, please, pleasepleaseplease don't come now,_ Ohtori begs his body, himself, heck, the _universe_. He is so hard it hurts, painful and numbing, too hard and too close to feel good at this point. Yet somehow, Ohtori suspects he's drawing metaphysically on Shishido's willpower, he hangs on. 

If Shishido is embarrassed by this sudden and terribly intimate contact, he doesn't show it. He even seems to press closer when Ohtori doesn't do anything to stop him or ward him off. He washes Ohtori hair, slow, circling motions of his fingertips at his temples and kisses his shoulder now and then. All the while his body is flush against Ohtori's back, his obvious arousal a ridge of heat against his leg. 

Even though yes, Shishido isn't as tall as him (and who is?), and yes, he's slighter than him, and yes he's not as broad-shouldered as him, and even though Ohtori outweighs Shishido easily, he feels... sheltered, maybe. Claimed. Wanted. Safe. 

Ohtori has done his research (the internet carries a wealth of knowledge, yet is a scary, twisted place). He knows that this kind of relationship is mostly resolved and balanced in a dominating person and a submissive one. In many instances this relies heavily on physical differences. The smaller or slighter one is submissive.

But when Shishido gnaws on his shoulder-blade like that, one arm still touching his hair, but the other around his stomach and pinning Ohtori backward against him and _growls_... how the hell is he supposed to choose? How the hell is he supposed to settle into a certain role, a part, as though they're performing a play? He wants to submit. _God_ , and how he wants it. But with the same breath he wants to grab Shishido and press him into the tiled wall and all but devour him. Why is he supposed to choose? 

He stops worrying when Shishido bites down again as the other hand untangles from his hair and slides down, low and lower, to clench around his hip. Ohtori starts to tremble instead, undone by how assertive Shishido is becoming. The arm around his stomach moves until just the hand is still resting there and then smoothes along his belly, as if soothing him. Not even touched, Ohtori knows he's slick with his own fluid. Never before has he been this close to coming, this aroused, without any direct stimulation at all. 

In the end, it's Shishido's fault.

Because Ohtori can feel him bite down on the ridge of his shoulder, then suck a mark into his skin. 

What else is he supposed to do but gasp and moan at that? Even if he wants to he wouldn't be able to stop the wild noise leaving him, and that in turn has Shishido whispering something against his back. Ohtori's given name maybe. Or dirty flattery. Or even nonsense. 

Ohtori doesn't see it coming. He's too over-loaded with sensation, so caught up in pure, instinctive reactions. But suddenly a palm settles along his length and before those fingers can even properly curl around him to stroke... 

Ohtori is coming.

Blindly sobbing against the pain, the relief, as everything becomes weightless and very, painfully real. Someone keens and arches and gasps, with everything white and too detailed, too much and he spills himself in Shishido's cupped hand, slicker and hotter than the water, over and over until Ohtori is unable to breathe. 

The aftershocks are still wracking through him, long after, but Ohtori is already firmly back in reality and now nearly sobbing for real in humiliation.

"I didn't mean to, I-I'm so sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to," he babbles, both hands coming up to cover his face. "I'm sorry, I couldn't last. I couldn't, I tried to, God. _God_."

Hands settle on his hips, firm. A rough voice snarls, "Shut up."

Ohtori does, still panting and hiding his face.

With a little noise Shishido pulls away from him and Ohtori knows he's going to leave, disappointed and disgusted with Ohtori, but then there's fingers curling around his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. 

"Shh, it's alright. Calm down," Shishido murmurs at him. He gazes up at Ohtori with his eyes wide and big and nearly black with... desire?

"I-" Ohtori gasps, "I-"

"God, _Choutarou_ ," Shishido grins up at him, fierce and awed. "That was amazing. You're so fucking gorgeous."

This time it's Ohtori turn to blush, both flattered and uneasy. 

Shishido kisses him, hard and searing. Then he moves on, as though he just didn't deliver Ohtori the orgasm of his life, picking up the shower gel and continuing to wash him. It's not that he doesn't try, because he does, but Shishido doesn't let him return the favor. Instead he mumbles, "Relax, Choutarou. Just enjoy this."

Washing, rubbing the cloth against Ohtori's too sensitized skin, Shishido doesn't seem to care if he came prematurely, screaming as he did so. The only thing he seems to want is to touch Ohtori and kiss him now and then. Even more he seems to enjoy Ohtori rubbing him dry with a towel afterwards, nuzzling his chest as he does so, arms looped around Ohtori's waist. He even let's Ohtori do up the buttons of his clean shirt, smiling a bit as he watches Ohtori maneuver the buttons through the holes. 

And as they're leaving Ohtori sees a young man with pale hair and a red mark on his neck blink back at him in one of the mirrors.

That's when he realizes, _we're chasing each other._

As equals.


	4. Chapter Four

**High Tides  
**

Everything seems soft and blurred. Whether it's still the orgasm doing that, the quality of the light or the person walking next to him, Ohtori can't tell. It doesn't matter. If asked what the happiest moment of his life was so far, it would've been this. Not the part in the shower, though admittedly that was beyond amazing, but right now. 

This moment, as they walk back. 

Because right now Ohtori has stopped fretting about how their dynamic would change, how their friendship would suffer and what he is and isn't allowed to do. They're still them, only so finely tuned to each other, so perfectly in sync that Ohtori feels like they could step on a court and break every other team suicidal enough to try and take them on.

Shishido is holding an animated monologue, talking and grinning as he always has done before. Even better is when they walk into the camp, everybody glances, but doesn't stare. Even Mukahi doesn't have any witticisms to offer. Ohtori suspects Oshitari-senpai is dying to say something, but doesn't quite dare after yesterday.

The last evening is spent first bandaging up Shishido's leg (who complains just as much as he would have before) and then drifting together around the fire as evening gives away to full dark. The only thing Shishido does that could vaguely be interpreted as an apology for his behavior last night is that he settles down to cook up chocolate milk near the fire.

"Who wants some?" he asks as he ladles a cup full to the brim.

Mukahi elbows Jiroh aside, knocking him into Oshitari's lap, so he can motion for the mug. But then Jiroh pouts and Mukahi relinquishes the mug with a long-suffering sigh.

"Is this the part where we sing Kumbaja?" Oshitari asks, accepting another mug.

"No," Atobe says firmly.

"Sing what?" Mukahi asks.

"Nothing you need to know," Atobe presses, keen on staving of any sort of campfire singing at all.

"I bet Seigaku does it," Oshitari points out.

Hiyoshi snorts. "I bet Seigaku does all sorts of _bonding_ activities." He makes bonding sound like something rather vulgar. 

"We did bonding activities," Atobe interjects. 

"Such as?" 

"Truth or dare," Shishido speaks up wryly. "And look how that turned out."

"Point," Oshitari relents. "At least there wasn't any bloodshed."

"There can still be bloodshed," Shishido informs him almost sweetly.

"No, I'm good," Oshitari says. "I like all my limbs attached."

"Hm, okay. Let me know if you change your mind, though," Shishido says with a shrug. "More cocoa?"

"Yes please," Oshitari says.

Hiyoshi tips his head towards Ohtori and murmurs, "But I bet at least Seigaku would have normal campfire conversations. And Echizen's senpais aren't such fruitcakes as ours are."

"I heard that," Oshitari says loudly. "One name: Fuji Syusuke."

"Even all of us combined aren't as psycho as he is," Mukahi chimes in. "He's scary. When he opens his eyes like that, you can nearly _hear_ the Psycho noise, I swear."

"Uh-huh," Taki says with a frantic nod, ponytail bouncing in its bejeweled clasp.Then he slings an arm around Hiyoshi's shoulders and says amicably, "Now aren't you happy that you have us as your senpais?"

"Happy really isn't the word I'd use," Hiyoshi grumbles, shrugging the arm away. 

"I don't know, Fuji's kinda alright," Shishido says with a shrug. "He's decent."

"You know him?" Mukahi exclaims.

Everybody stares, slightly awed, as Shishido make a vague waffling motion with his hand.

"Not really," Shishido amends with another shrug. "He plays billiards at the same place I do. Sometimes we team up or play against each other."

"And who wins?" Atobe asks, already smirking.

Shishido gives him the middle finger.

"Thought so," Atobe says.

There's a moment of silence. They stare into the fire and sip their mugs. Next to Ohtori, Shishido shifts, leaning back on one arm. By intent or not, his left pink touches Ohtori's. Then the finger curls into his hand and Shishido glances at him. In the light of the fire his eyes are absolutely beautiful.

Atobe opens his mouth, makes a noise and falls silent again. 

Everybody waits. Atobe's eyes are darker than usual, but his face is expressionless. Then he looks up at them one-by-one and says "We're going to win this year."

Yet another beat of silence.

Then Hiyoshi says, sarcasm dripping all over the place, "Nice speech."

"Shut up," Atobe snaps.

"I liked it," Shishido interjects. His hand is still touching Ohtori's. "Short and to the point." 

"Wow," Mukahi mumbles to Taki. "Ryou and Atobe agree. Is the world going to end now?"

"Of course," Atobe says, smiling at Shishido which makes the latter narrow his eyes suspiciously. "I remembered you liked small, easy words."

"Fuck off, Kei-chan," Shishido says, smiling just as sweetly. 

"Don't call me that," Atobe says, deeply serious.

"Sorry," Shishido gives in easily. Too easily. "Is only Yuushi allowed to call you that?"

Oshitari smiles and hums. "You have to make it sound sexy, like this: would you like some more hot chocolate, _Kei-chan_?"

"That," Mukahi says loudly, scooting away from Oshitari. "Sounded absolutely pornographic. You practice that, you do."

"Does it bother you, _Gakuto_?" Oshitari goes on, invading Mukahi's personal space. "You seem all flustered."

"Shut up, you. That fucking voice and the talking. You, stop. No more talking," Mukahi shrills, covering his ears with his hands.

Of course it only causes Oshitari to lean in so close he's nearly pinning Mukahi to the ground, breathing totally random and mostly innocent things into his ear, like snippets of this morning's weather forecast. Mukahi shrieks and wriggles and screams 'Rape!' so loud a flock of roosting birds take flight.

Hiyoshi groans. "Is it too late to change schools? I think I'll take my chances at Seigaku." 

Jiroh, who lies curled like a cat at their feet, cracks open an eye and says, "You'd totally miss us." 

Hiyoshi scoffs and looks the other way, but doesn't deny it.

***

It's pitch black out and the glow of the fire pushes the darkness barely far enough back for Ohtori to make out their tent in the dark. Behind him the rest of the team still sits, telling ghost stories. Something which Shishido-san is way too good at. He describes his slaughters scenes and ghosts so vividly not even the newest film pumped full with special effects could raise the hair on the back of Ohtori's neck as acutely as that did. Even Mukahi had scooted so close to Oshitari he'd nearly been in his lap, wide-eyed and pale. 

Crawling into the tent, Ohtori has a bit of a struggle to first find the zipper of the canvas-flap and then to find the zipper of his sleeping bag. The small effort is enough to make him break out lightly in sweat. So he strips down to his boxers and settles down. He's dead tired. Two, maybe three hours tops is what he got for sleep last night and this day's emotional roller-coaster has drained the rest of his energy.

For a while he snoozes a bit, but true sleep doesn't come what with all the laughing and talking still going on near the fire. But one by one the others return to their tents, crackling of canvas and snoring rips of zippers reaching through his hazy state. He wakes more fully when a gust of surprisingly cold air hits his skin and he burrows deeper into his sleeping bag. 

It seems Shishido-san is intent on taking the tent down early. Ohtori can hear his mat drag over the canvas, the sleeping bag rustle. Around them the tent teeters. Something knocks against his shoulder and Ohtori gives in and cracks open an eye. 

Shishido's nose is not even a hand-span away from his. "You asleep?" Shishido whispers.

"Not anymore," Ohtori mumbles with a little huff.

"Sorry," Shishido says, not very sorry at all.

"What were you doing anyway?" Ohtori asks him.

"Uhm. Yeah," Shishido pulls back, moves around and settles down. "This? If that is, uh. okay."

There's a shuffle as he inches closer and lies down properly. With his head settling in the shallow dip where Ohtori's shoulder connects with his chest. An arm is draped over his torso. It seems all the dragging and moving and nearly knocking the tent down was Shishido moving his mat closer to Ohtori's.

"You don't mind?" Shishido murmurs softly against Ohtori's neck. He's blushing, Ohtori can feel how his face heats up against his skin.

Curling the arm that Shishido is lying on, Ohtori draws them both closer and into a less forced position. Satisfied that Ohtori isn't going to protest, Shishido moves too, hooking a slender leg over his and shifting until they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. It's both beautiful and amazing, but also strange and slightly uncomfortable to sleep with someone else. Shishido is all jutting hipbones poking his thigh and sharp elbows digging into the vulnerable parts of Ohtori's body. His hair is thick and tickles his jaw and smells of the burning wood of the fire.

His free hand arm searches for the arm that's slung over him. Finding it he touches their fingers together.

"I don't mind," Ohtori answers into soft hair. 

Shishido makes a soft grunt and laces their fingers together.

Ohtori smiles, closes his eyes and falls fast asleep.

***

Waking up alone puzzles Ohtori for quite a while. It's still dark out and Ohtori gets the feeling he really hasn't slept that long. The indent where Shishido had been is still faintly warm.

Then he can hear Shishido's rough whisper outside. "Don't be such a baby, c'mon. Just take a sip, you'll feel better."

"No. I'm going to be sick again. Go away," someone moans pitifully. 

Ohtori grabs a t-shirt, pulls it over his head and sticks his feet in a pair of strainers. The sudden chill is quite a shock, but nice after the muggy warmth of the tent. He lets his eyes adjust until he can make out two faint silhouettes in the dark. And then it takes quite a while for his brain to adjust to the sight of Shishido gently pressing a cold washcloth against Atobe's forehead and rubbing his back.

"I'll go when Kabaji comes back. Now just take a sip of water," Shishido tells him.

"It's your fault I'm sick," Atobe complains. "You put something into my chocolate. I just know it."

"If I did I'd have put it into Yuushi's drink, not yours," Shishido informs him.

Out of the tent closest to Ohtori's right, Oshitari slurs, "I love you, too, Ryou."

"God," Atobe moans. "Is everybody awake?"

"Most likely," Shishido admits. "Stop lurking in the shadows Choutarou."

"What's wrong?" Ohtori asks, taking a step or two closer.

"Atobe's sick. Puked all over himself," Shishido says casually.

"Shut up," Atobe snarls. "Stop reveling in my misery. I'm going to die and nobody cares."

"Kabaji is up and about at three in the morning to look for something to settle your stomach and I'm here wiping the barf of your face. Ungrateful bastard," Shishido tells him. "Now take a sip before I force it down your fucking throat."

Ohtori wonders if he should tell Shishido that one mostly treats patients with care and infinite patience, not threaten them. He decides against it.

Strange enough it seems to work. Letting Shishido help him steady the cup, Atobe takes a small sip.

"Was that so hard?" Shishido asks him.

"I hate you," Atobe mumbles, but lets Shishido drag the washcloth over his face once more.

After a while Kabaji comes jogging back with a little tablet that hopefully will settle Atobe's nausea. Shishido and Atobe have another verbal spat over drinking the medicine. And in the end Kabaji holds his wrists while Shishido promises Atobe that if he doesn't drink the fucking medicine, Keigo, he's gonna fucking rip him a new one.

Ohtori winces.

A moment later Atobe drinks the medicine. 

Kabaji takes it from there, picking Atobe up princess-style (under loud protest) and carrying him back into their circus-sized tent.

With a sigh, Shishido plunks down on the ground. "Fuck. I'm wide-awake now," he mutters. 

"We could go for a walk?" Ohtori ventures.

There's a considering pause. "S'okay. You can go back to sleep, Choutarou," Shishido waves him away after a moment.

"I really don't mind," he presses.

In the dark, Ohtori can see a pale oval of a face turn up towards him. There's a sound of Shishido scratching his hair. "Alright then," he says, a smile in his voice.

In unspoken unison they walk towards the ocean. Apparently Shishido is in possession of some sort night-vision as he navigates the darkness as smoothly as a shadow himself. Often he grabs Ohtori before he can smack into something or trip over an unexpected obstacle.

There's something that's been on Ohtori's mind ever since he walked onto the court next to Shishido-san this season. In the darkness it's easier to give voice to his worries. "Our last tennis season this year," he murmurs softly.

"Yeah," Shishido says. "Can't believe it's all going so fast."

"We'll still play together right?" Ohtori rushes, feeling like an enormous dork. "For fun?"

Shishido touches his arm, a tickle of fingers only. "Of course."

He sort of knew that, but Ohtori feels better hearing it. "Any idea what you're going to to after senior high?"

More hair carding. Then he looks up at him. "I always thought I'd go pro," Shishido admits. "But I'm not good enough."

"Shis-"

"Don't," Shishido says with an air of finality. "Just don't. You know it, I know it, no need to pretend otherwise."

Ohtori stares ahead of him. It's both true and yet not. Over the years Shishido has developed into one of the most frustrating counter-punchers to play against. Mostly because at the core, besides the speed of his dash, Shishido's moves are all simple. Nothing showy, nothing amazing like Fuji Syusuke. Not like Kaidoh Kaoru, who also has quite some jaw-dropping moves in his arsenal and is simply terrifying all on his own. Thing is, Shishido almost returns all of the balls. When you face him across the net, the first three games fool you into thinking that he's only mediocre. No surprises, no physics-defying moves, no outstanding serve. But by the fourth game you'll get tired. You'll realize you've already been playing for twice as long you thought it would take. You'll be panting while Shishido hasn't even broken a sweat. And in the last game, when lifting your racket seems an impossible prospect, he'll simply crush you. 

Nobody seems to realize it, but Shishido is fourth on their ranking list. Third is Oshitari, second is Hiyoshi and Atobe first. Ohtori did realize that. And he's both incredibly proud and deliriously happy Shishido seems content to play doubles with him.

"Oi," Shishido prods him. "Don't look so emo. _I'm_ the one who should be depressed, but hey, I'm over it."

"You love tennis," Ohtori just admits.

"I do," Shishido agrees. "But I thought we'd just agreed to still play after senior high?"

"You're content with only that?" Ohtori asks, startled.

"Of course," Shishido shrugs. "Hey, I did mature enough to draw my own conclusions."

"Sure about that? The maturing part?" Ohtori teases, smiling.

Shishido shoves him. "Shut up. I thought you were the nice guy here."

"Nicer than you," Ohtori counters.

"You're getting cheeky," Shishido grumbles. "Don't forget who's the boss of this outfit, Ohtori-kun."

Ohtori smiles as the name makes him recall spot-lights, bruises and an arrogant senpai with long hair bossing him around. "Hai, Shishido-senpai," he replies, bowing his head meekly.

After a glance they both burst out laughing.

***

The ocean is amazing at night. It seems a whole other world. The surface smoothes and ripples like a mirage. Sometimes the sky reflects in it, stars gliding onto the surface before being broken by a roll of waves. The rush of the water seems so loud, so deep and significant compared to the messy slosh in clear daylight. The beach seems luminescent, white sand reflecting just enough of the moon so they can read each other's eyes and expressions properly. 

It's high tide. 

Compared to last time more than half the beach has been swallowed by the vast body of water. For almost ten minutes they gaze at it in easy silence. 

Then Shishido pulls off his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Ohtori asks, puzzled.

"I'm going for a swim," he answers, voice muffled by the shirt.

"That's dangerous at night!" Ohtori protests.

"Relax, I'm not going to go deep," Shishido laughs as his head comes free with a pop and his hair stands on end. Taking in Ohtori's worried and defiant expression he soothes, "I'll stay where I can stand, alright?"

After a moment Ohtori gives a reluctant nod. It's either that or sling Shishido over his shoulder and drag him back to the camp. "Please be careful," he says instead.

"Always."

Naturally, Ohtori isn't appeased. 

Then something dawns on him as Shishido tugs at the strings of his shorts. "Are you wearing swim-shorts underneath?"

"Nope," Shishido says. "I'm going to see if all that skinny-dipping stuff is true."

Ohtori smacks his forehead. The slap echoes across the water. "What if someone passes by?"

A pair of boxer-shorts go flying. "Stand watch if you're so worried about my modesty," Shishido counters, unabashed, and then sprints towards the water.

Ohtori refuses to be distracted by the admittedly wondrous spectacle of Shishido's naked backside. Instead he holds his breath as Shishido goes under as he splashes into the water and only releases it when he bobs up a heartbeat later. True to his word he's standing with the water just below his navel. Ohtori watches him swim around a little, body pale and gleaming like something not quite human. He thinks of selkies and smiles despite himself.

"And?" Ohtori calls after a while. "Are you liberated?"

"Quite," Shishido laughs and comes sloshing out of the water. "The water is surprisingly warm."

"It's been a very hot summer," Ohtori says and lets himself stare. Because Shishido is asking for it, walking up to him dripping wet and naked and in the middle of a public(!) beach. Only moonlight covers him, glimmering on his skin. Shishido stops a breath away and grins up at him almost challengingly. "You're doing this on purpose," Ohtori says hoarsely. 

Ohtori doesn't know what to think of this Shishido Ryou. This person who blushes when they hold hands, or the split-instant before he tiptoes, or when Ohtori snuck a quick kiss earlier. And this very same person who now stands nude before him, shining and seductive, who presses the wet length of his body against him, winds arms around Ohtori's neck and kisses him deep. 

Against his lips Shishido whispers, "Just say stop."

Who would want to say stop to this? Ohtori can only settle his hands on Shishido's hips, almost a possessive sort of hold.

"Good," Shishido goes on after a moment with no refusal forthcoming. "I just want to enjoy this moment. When we get home there's won't be much chance to..."

Ohtori makes a hum and slants his mouth more angled over Shishido's to keep him from ending that sobering thought. He's right, as long as they're both comfortable, they should take advantage of the situation. Shishido's lips are salty and he smells sharp and fresh. They kiss in long, slow suckles, caressing each other's lips and nibbling softly. Shishido's rough palm cups his jaw. 

"Come into the water with me?" Shishido breathes softly across his mouth. "Please."

It's useless to try and scrape together some common sense. With Shishido naked and pressed up against his front, all common sense has packed its bags and left. Nodding, Ohtori manages a thick, "Alright."

As he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, his hands are pushed to his sides again. Shishido brushes a knuckle over his hip to answer Ohtori's unspoken question. Slowly he undresses him. Slow enough, as though he's unwrapping a present, something wonderful, even though Ohtori knows Shishido-san never has the patience to unwrap presents slowly. The look in those eyes, hungry, causes Ohtori blush, but also makes him almost instantly and painfully hard. His shorts are pushed down along with his underwear, but Shishido's palms linger in a slow caress on Ohtori's thighs. 

Shishido looks up at him, eyes wide, before he suddenly ducks his head against Ohtori's chest and just... holds him. After a moment he settles his arms around him, too, and tucks Shishido under his chin. Ohtori realizes that if anybody came along they'd be in one hell of trouble. Two men hugging each other in the middle of a public beach, naked... _not_ done. Then again the extra risk makes it sort of exiting and Ohtori just wants to do this, take this offer with both hands and thank his lucky stars. Only Shishido stays motionless against him, his heart beating so heavily and rapid Ohtori can feel it near his sternum. 

Maybe he's getting nervous, maybe he feels like he's pushing Ohtori.

So Ohtori takes charge, tangling their hands together and drawing Shishido towards the water. The water is warm and yet wonderfully refreshing at the same time. Here in shallows Ohtori can still see their legs underwater, but further away nothing, just the water curling and undulating like obsidian come to life. Ohtori looks towards the beach, checking for other late-night wanderers, but all is perfectly quiet. So he looks towards Shishido and gets a wave of water in his face, swallowing half of it. Shishido laughs and apologizes, but Ohtori recovers and pushes him under. A moment later Shishido tackles him and they both go down in a loud crash. 

They play around until Ohtori is breathless enough he needs to stop to catch his breath. Shishido isn't even breathing hard, but he tilts his head and grins at him. But the longer they stare at each other, the more the quality of that gaze changes, until Shishido stops grinning and just _looks_ at him. Of course it's inevitable. Just before Ohtori draws closer, he can see Shishido swallow heavily and his eyes are big and vulnerable and precisely the same they were just before they just stood holding each other on the beach. 

"Just say stop," Ohtori murmurs before their mouths meet in a trembling slide.

There's a smile pressed into his lips and Shishido takes the last step closer himself. Shishido opens his mouth readily enough to allow their tongues to glide together and his fingers tangle in the chain of Ohtori cross. They kiss until their mouths only taste of each other and then Ohtori draws away to kiss Shishido's jaw, to nibble along his throat. Shishido murmurs his name and his arms tighten around his neck to pull them flush. Both of them are young and both of them are boys and the arousal simply takes clean over. The full-frontal contact is too much, Ohtori looses the last vestiges of his rationality to the surge of desire as he can feel the hard length of Shishido's erection against his thigh. He wouldn't allow Ohtori to return the favor earlier and it's obvious he's already close, shivering against him.

Ohtori kisses him again, too sloppy, but too aroused to properly focus. Instead he just licks the open crevice of Shishido's lips, sucks at his lips. There's a happy murmuring sound before Shishido bites his mouth, sharp and intense and then arches into him. Ohtori sees stars. His knees nearly buckle under him as his cock slides against the hard plane of Shishido's abdomen. It's Shishido creating the friction too, rocking against his leg and curling one hand over the curve of Ohtori's behind. But it's Ohtori who in a brief, lucid moment curses his height that they can't do this properly standing, sliding together. 

There's only one option.

His hands drop, slide along Shishido's thighs and then clutch the back of his legs. With a small grunt he lifts Shishido up and besides the indignant little growl against his temple, he cooperates, wrapping his legs around Ohtori's waist. For a moment he sways, looking to balance himself in the traitorous shifting sand underfoot and an armful of willful Shishido-san who wriggles and trembles as his hips start to move to the rhythm of their heartbeat, pressing their cocks together and making Ohtori even weaker in the knees than before. Eventually he can prevent them from toppling over into the ocean, no thanks to Shishido though, and he's standing steady enough they can attempt to work out a steady cadence. 

When they find one, Ohtori manages to peel his eyes open to look at Shishido, to see how he cants his head to share a little ghost of a breath, lips barely brushing. The eyes boring into his are all pupil, with only the merest rim of iris showing and the emotion in them nearly knocks Ohtori flat on his back after all. 

"Shishido-san," he chokes out. 

Shishido arches close, rubbing their bodies, their erections close together, the slippery slide aided by water and their mingled pre-come. He does it without aid of Ohtori, his arms and legs strong enough to easily hold himself in this press around Ohtori's body. "Please," he murmurs, voice thick and growling and desperate. "Call me Ryou, _please_."

The name feels strange, like a foreign piece of candy on his tongue. He can only moan for a moment, loud and raw enough to even embarrass himself at how needy he sounds.

Ohtori drops his head in the arch of Shishido's neck and just breathes. 

Fingers rake through his hair, but the rest of the motion ceases. Ohtori gasps at the loss of contact which hits him like a bucket of ice.

"Say it," Shishido growls, teeth nipping at his ear. "Please."

It doesn't sound like he's asking though, he's _demanding_ it from Ohtori, but his eyes are soft and warm.

Ohtori swallows and whispers, "Ryou." 

There's a white flash of teeth as Shishido bites his own lips, baring his neck and mouth moving in silent words. Shishido shudders, growls and moves against him slowly again, an up that lasts forever and a down that makes Ohtori gasp and sob, makes everything warm and slick. The eyes looking into his are wild, but there's also infinite affection and a terrible gentleness in them just before they flutter shut and his lips press a chaste kiss to Ohtori's forehead. And then he really starts to move, rocking and sliding their bodies together in a rough, disjointed slide that, at any other moment, would've been painful. Right now it's perfect, blinding and unbearable and Ohtori sobs for real, needy gasps of air against Shishido's chin, while Shishido rubs their noses together and Ohtori can only tighten his grip on Shishido's thighs, hard enough to leave bruises, it burns, this pleasure, and they thrust against each other, their bodies one pulsing entity, just before Ohtori is pulsing against Shishido, coming, spilling between their stomachs, screaming until his voice gives out.

His knees give out, too.

They go down. Ohtori gets the unpleasant sensation of his body tightening against the cold, but keeps his head above the water while on his knees, but Shishido goes under. 

Despite the fuzziness of the orgasm, frightening in its intensity, Ohtori fishes for Shishido and draws him up. 

After spitting out a mouthful of ocean, Shishido gasps and rubs at the salt stinging his eyes. Ohtori feels guilty. Lame though it might sound, it had been magical, surreal, otherworldly, and what did he do? Dunk Shishido under as soon as it was over.

God.

 _Shit_.

Did Shishido even come?

He hasn't even made sure of that.

"Sorry," Ohtori mumbles, gathering Shishido against him and carrying him, still spluttering, until there's only sand under his soles. The last of his strength drains out of him and he sinks down with Shishido tucked against him. 

Sand is everywhere.

Ohtori isn't sure he cares.

"You okay?" Ohtori asks, shamefaced. What kind of horrible... boyfriend must Shishido think him to be now?

Shishido wriggles, coughs and blinks. "Could've warned me," he says.

No words can encompass his shame. Again, he couldn't even last. Not even after Shishido already made him come in the showers. "Sorry, Shishido-san," he fumbles, not able to meet his stare. "Sorry-"

"Oi, oi," Shishido grabs his face and forces him to look back. "Just a bit of a surprise when you went down. You okay?"

Ohtori blinks, "What?"

"What are you-" Shishido says.

"I didn't even-" Ohtori whispers, furious with himself, "-didn't even make sure you came."

"What?" Shishido echoes again. Then he looks both faintly amused and embarrassed. "I came before you, idiot."

Ohtori stares at him, uncomprehending.

"When you said my name?"

 _Huh_. Ohtori does his utmost best to make his brain process more coherently. Maybe, yes, during that slow, torturous up and down, the warmth... was that really?

"Yeah," Shishido mutters, going red in the face as though he can read Ohtori's mind. "Exactly."

The rush of pleasure, pride and sheer relief is put on halt, because... "Then what were you talking about?"

"Being dunked into the water and inhaling a mouthful of ocean isn't that sexy," Shishido grumbles, but there's a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

The rush breaks through, so he laughs, but after he regains most of his rationality. 

Shocked, he quickly darts his eyes up and down the beach. The sun could've come up while it happened, they could've had a whole audience for that matter, or even a combination of the two... heck, the world could've been ending and Ohtori wouldn't have noticed. But now he feels a stab of fear that someone might've... but there's not a soul. Only two sets of footprints tracking down towards the water and a bundle of clothing. All theirs.

 _Thank God_ , Ohtori breathes inwardly.

Then, feeling like a happy, punch-drunk fool, he curls himself against Shishido.

***

Morning dawns as being both the happiest and the most uncomfortable in Ohtori's life. 

He doesn't wake with the previous twenty-four hours coming back in slow-motion snapshots as always seems to happen in most romance stories. Not with Shishido draped all over him, huffing into his ear and being... quite heavy actually. Like that, Ohtori remembers exactly and instantly what they were up to only a few hours ago. It's bright daylight out and he hasn't the faintest idea what time it is. And he can't move to check with Shishido still sleeping on top of him.

For a moment he wonders if the stabbing light woke him, but then there's hammering against the side of the tent and Mukahi's loud, very _loud_ voice screaming, "If you two don't get the hell up now I'm sending Taki in there with his camera. Or Yuushi."

After a twitch Shishido growls and then yells back, "Shut up midget! We heard you already!" 

Ohtori's left ear rings. " _I_ heard you, too," he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut.

Shishido glances down him as though to say, hey, how the hell did you get there?

Ohtori raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry," Shishido says and relaxes, settling down comfortably.

They smile faintly at each other. 

"We really should get up," Ohtori points out. But his body betrays itself, hands coming up on their own accord to slide down the arch of Shishido's back.

Shishido doesn't answer but lifts a hand to stroke Ohtori's hair away from his forehead. He doesn't seem in a hurry. Instead he just gazes down at him and runs his fingers lazily along his scalp. Ohtori doesn't think he's ever seen Shishido's expression this... soft. Shishido's hair is a mess, ocean and Ohtori's finger-combing have left it a war-zone with no hope for survivors. 

There's sand _everywhere_. 

After their naked escapade (and did he really do that? Him?) returning to the camp had cost an inhuman effort. Even drying themselves a little, or cleaning up some had seemed to require some divine power neither of them wielded. As a result everything is slightly damp and smells of ocean. And sand. Lots of sand. In his hair, his ears, between his toes, probably even in the cleft of his behind... better not think about that.

Somehow, despite the obvious unsexiness of it all, he's starting to grow hard. After all, Shishido is nude and currently tracing Ohtori's lips with the pad of his thumb. Ohtori can't help the small entreating noise he makes in the back of his throat. What with being plastered all over him, Shishido smirks knowingly. Eyes glinting, he nuzzles Ohtori's jaw, ghosts his lips wet and nibbling along his mouth and... sits up, straddling him strategically and stretches -a hard flex of smooth skin and muscles. Then he crawls off him. 

Ohtori glares at him.

After a grin Shishido ruffles his hair, scattering sand, and directs himself to his bags.

It goes so fast. Barely an half an hour later Shishido is breaking their tent down while Ohtori gulps down some instant ramen and tries to ignore Oshitari's sly looks or Hiyoshi's overall behavior.

Or Mukahi.

But that's kind of difficult as the redhead plunks himself down next to Ohtori and says loudly. _Again_. "You two sure slept long, it's three in the afternoon. You must've been really _tired_."

And damn it, Ohtori blushes, red to his ears in an instant.

Hiyoshi smirks.

Oshitari leers.

Mukahi grins.

Shishido throws a tent-pole at him and nearly skewers him alive.

Mukahi shrieks, "You _idiot_! You could've hit me!"

"I missed?" Shishido murmurs, disappointed as he runs his fingers lovingly along another pole. "Too bad."

Right then Atobe tosses the flaps of his purple monstrosity aside with flourish, posing in the entrance for a moment to add a dramatic effect. Then he narrows his eyes and glances down his nose at first Mukahi and then Shishido. "Try not to kill each other before the bus arrives in-" he glances at his rolex "exactly one hour."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Shishido says as he pulls the pole he threw at Mukahi out of the ground where it imbedded itself. Then he uses it to point at Atobe, swinging it with such a sharp flick dirt flies off the end and splatters across Atobe's pastel blue shirt. "And why does nobody make any suggestive remarks about him and Kabaji sleeping in?"

"Because Kabaji is sitting right here and has been up since seven," Oshitari says simply.

Shishido opens his mouth, scowls and then instantly murders the sad remains of the tent.

As agreed, the bus arrives a small hour later. 

Now that the prospect of returning, of going home and leaving _this_ behind is real, is imminent, Ohtori feels an aching knot settle in the middle of his torso. What now? Ohtori now understands last night's almost desperate urge that had seemed to drive Shishido, because when will they ever find the time again for anything other than a stolen kiss here or a chaste touch there? They can't even go somewhere _together_ together publicly. And what will his family think? And shouldn't Shishido-san and he really talk about _this_ , this being together thing? Shishido is graduating soon. He'll be leaving. And, God, won't his father freak out? And will Shishido's parents still let him near the house when they ever tell them? _If_ they ever tell them. Ohtori's doesn't think he can do it.

He's panicking and he knows it, but he seems unable to stop it.

Kabaji loads the bags into the bus all by himself while the rest of the team files onto it. All the while Ohtori just stands there, frozen like a deer in the headlights of the oncoming freight-train that is reality.

A warm hand settles on the back of his neck. Ohtori blinks.

Shishido pats his back. "Stop freaking out, Choutarou," he tells him and gives him a lop-sided smile. "It'll be okay. Trust me."

And he does trust Shishido. Unquestioningly and then some.

"Hai, Ryou," he says and promptly claps a hand over his mouth.

Shishido just gets on the bus and tosses over his shoulder, "That's what I wanted to hear."

Ohtori gapes some more. He needs to be more careful. Something tugs at the bags in his hands. Ohtori looks away from the bus towards Kabaji, who is trying to take the bags from him so they can be loaded onto the bus.

Letting go, Ohtori mutters a quick apology.

Kabaji easily takes both bags and stows them in the compartment. A big hand lands on Ohtori's shoulder and Kabaji steers him towards the bus. "Shishido-senpai is right, Ohtori-kun. The two of you'll be alright," he says in his resonant rumble. Then he herds a spluttering Ohtori onto the bus.

***

On the way back Ohtori doesn't sit next to Shishido. Okay, he _does_ , in way. Shishido is across the aisle, his body tucked into a huddle spread over two seats. His head is pointed towards Ohtori, dark hair still a terror to behold. 

Atobe is once again at the front. He stares through the window out at the world with an expression that says he'll rule all of it soon enough. Halfway through the ride all his mobile phones start chorusing catchy tunes, vying for attention like hungry baby birds. After a moment he chooses one of them and says in a disturbingly cheerful voice, "Hello, Tezuka."

Ohtori is sitting next to Hiyoshi. They share an equally disquieted look. 

The other person talking on the phone is Oshitari. He and his cousin seem to be discussing the most random and inane topics... such as pickles, squirrels and the color green. Likely these are codewords. If not... Ohtori doesn't really want to know.

Kabaji knits and smiles to himself. It looks to be another pair of socks in pastel blue. They rather suspiciously match Atobe's shirt.

Mukahi is in the seat before Shishido and turns around every once and then to dart a slender arm between the seats to poke Shishido. After ten of these ambushes, Shishido suddenly snatches the offending finger and bends it until Mukahi shrieks. Ohtori gives Shishido a _Look_ until he reluctantly lets the captive digit go and settles back down to sleep. Mukahi nurses his finger and sulks.

Stretched out in the back of the bus is Jiroh. Who is fairly quiet but for the few times he wriggles happily and murmurs about Marui's awesome Tsunawatari or Fuji's Hakugei.

Taki... Taki has been fairly subdued all day so far. At least for the part Ohtori was awake. Taki sits by himself near the front and gazes out through the window. Once in a while the sun will rebound on the sequined print on the front of his shirt causing Oshitari, who sits across the aisle from him, to hold up his hand to block the glint.

Everybody is tired. Atobe and Oshitari have stopped phoning and fall into in exhausted stilness. All of them stare, heavy lidded, into nothing. Or sleep, the way Jiroh and Shishido-san do.

Ohtori smiles

_It'll be okay. Trust me._

_I do._ Ohtori wants to say, but instead he lets an impulse get the better of him and reaches across the aisle to run his fingers through Shishido's hair. Despite the way it stands on end in spikes, Ohtori knows it'll feel thick and smooth and almost luxurious between his fingers. He means to do it softly, a caress, but the bus hits a pothole and he just ends up... patting Shishido on the head.

Shishido sleeps, breathing steady.

Ohtori repeats the movement, but the bus jostles again and it's reduced to another clumsy pat. Okay, never mind the fleetingly romantic caresses then.

"Choutarou," Shishido murmurs, in his sleep.

His heart swells. That Shishido can even _sense_ him in his sleep _is_ a bit romantic, isn't it?

But then Shishido goes on, very much _not_ asleep: "Don't pat me on the head like that," he says and cracks open an eye. "I'm not a dog."

"I know," Ohtori soothes hastily.

Next to him Hiyoshi snorts and mumbles "Could've fooled me."

Ohtori elbows him. Hiyoshi smirks and looks innocently out of the window.

"Heard that," Shishido says a bit louder. "Just wait until we get off the bus, Wakashi."

"I'm terrified," Hiyoshi deadpans. "See me tremble."

Ohtori elbows him again.

The landscape outside passes by in a blur. Ohtori looks down the aisle and watches the driver maneuver through the traffic those rare moments he isn't looking at Shishido. Every time he does, he smiles. You'd think that when you actually get _together_ the actual love-sick daze would ease a bit, but instead it's worse than ever. Shishido is _his_ now. This rough-edged, temperamental and mostly downright rude person who hides a big heart under his gruff exterior. 

Ohtori loves him.

It's as simple as that.

This time Hiyoshi elbows _him_ and gives him a glare as if to say Ohtori's getting a bit _too_ moon-eyed to share a seat with. Ohtori blushes and stares resolutely to the front. It's not his fault that Shishido-san turns him into a lame, happy dork, it really isn't.

The green gives away to gray and neon and _noise_. Tokyo is crowed, one maze of vehicles and people trying to navigate their way through the concrete landscape dotted with tufts of green here and there. Billboards flash and pedestrians sweat buckets under the glare of the sun. Children scream and play in the parks. Their driver mutters at other automobilists as they all try to clear the road junction simultaneously and only end up in one big, horn-blaring soup. 

They're almost home.

When they're not even four blocks away from Hyoutei, Taki speaks up.

"Guys?" comes his rather querulous call.

Everybody ignores it. Nobody has any interest in dealing with one of Taki's crisisses now.

"...Guys?" he tries again, voice going higher.

Another pause. Nobody reacts.

Taki makes a pathetic noise.

"What, Haginosuke?" Oshitari says, indulging him.

"I..." Taki breathes, nervous. "I... I think -please don't freak out guys- I think. Uhm-"

"Go on," Oshitari encourages.

"Oh God. I think," Taki rakes his hair back, takes a steading breath and says loudly, "I think I'm like _that_ , too!" 

There's a silence.

"Yeah," Shishido says, loud and sarcastic, but not unkind. 

"No fucking kidding."

_-fin-_


End file.
